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Quiet Like That

Faith, grace, Peace, praise, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The rain has lulled me to even more lazy. I can’t get my thoughts to dance together and my excitement over chances to write has become anxious obligation overload.

Brain overloaded, lethargic and slightly rattled. I make things difficult that are simple, too many noises and voices all colliding.

I’m gonna have to get solitary, have to get quiet, have to get still.

Quiet like the way I felt as the sunlight traveled in through the windows to rest in my mama’s chair. Quiet, like that, content just to be there in the room.

Quiet like being told by someone that they’d pray and being moved by the expression of another whose beliefs you’d decided didn’t line up with yours.

Quiet when you walk away still draped in their sincerity and being really ashamed that you’d considered them unworthy, not able.

Before.

Quiet when your soul is your teacher and you listen and then pause a long few minutes to let it settle, a lesson on the love that you say you believe.

Real quiet, I was.

Quiet like the aging beagle girl looking for her blanket tossing in the dryer, then making her way to my warm lap and being surprised that I let her stay so long.

Exceptions, bent rules, exceptionally quiet we were.

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Quiet like the touching of my soles and toes of my feet, smooth caresses of the senses on freshly laundered sheets and deciding for myself there’s no rule I can’t wash them daily.

Excitedly quiet like that.

The words will come in the quiet moments suggesting, “More, please.”

God wants us to develop the character, wisdom, and structure to sustain His abundance.

Christine Caine

Quiet like the day I read this quote, copied, pasted and printed to remember it.

Quiet like this morning when I prayed for God to speak to my heart and then read a message from a friend about how she thought of me as she read of a prophetic’s words that there are writers who are about “to be birthed, to break through”.

Quiet like that.

More inner, less outer. Less waste of time, more nourishment of intention, more carefully attentive.

More God, less me.

Quiet like that.

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.”

‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4:16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with others who wrote prompted by “simplify”. Can’t help but wonder if others had such a hard time with expressing something so simple.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/01/11/fmf-link-up-simplify/

Art and Opportunity

Angels, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, grace, praise, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Uncategorized

    The post I’m sharing below was originally sent for consideration to be shared with a large platform of readers. It was my fifth attempt to respond to the opportunity to be chosen.

A week before I got the “no” though, I was selected by two others. The very same day, I thought the shop owner was gonna tell me she didn’t think my pieces were right for her shop anymore. Instead, she wrote a sweet note and said: “give me more”. I’ve set up my Etsy page “Angels and Other” and I rearranged my desk today, added a pretty paperweight and crossed off 5 of the 8 things on my “to do”.  I pray for opportunities, remembering to do only my part and let God do the rest.

Always believe something wonderful is about to happen.

Pretty paperweight wisdom

I know that God is for me. I know that I am known.

As are you.

I remembered sharing what I call a “lisaism” in a recent post, the one I felt so proud of, one that I decided would be a difference maker for my children. “You can be miserable or you can be motivated.”

When I got the “no” email telling me how many others had tried and yet, again my submission was not chosen, I was kinda pitiful. But, not for as long as before. I remembered all of the good that’s been coming my way and I decided to carry on.

I remembered another “lisaism”:

You can be pitiful or you can be powerful. Me

I left work late yesterday, went to a grant presentation and hurried to make boot camp because I know physical health is good for my mental health and I’ve made up my mind in general, to press on like a runner towards whatever prizes God has for me.

(Oh, and there were some edits needed, I understand more clearly why my email said no. Live and learn. 🙂)

We were in the same spot that morning. I, for the grits that remind of my mama and her for coffee. The little café that is known for its breakfast, pimento cheese, casseroles and cheesecake, she was new in town and was waiting for her order. The cashier wished me good morning, and I listened as the new person talked about her shop next door. She and her husband had retired from corporate, he a carpenter and she a lover of junk pieces and art, she had opened a new place and was excited to begin displaying local pieces of art.

The words came, and I surprised myself to announce, “I paint.”  She turned and smiled and said “Well, what types of painting do you do?”  To which I replied, “I’ll show you, I have pictures on my phone.”  This was over a year ago, and I still have my wall in her shop.

Shortly before my cafe’ encounter, I’d begun to pray the Jabez prayer again. I have a little in common with Jabez, always have. I find his story relatable in that not too many people; His mother included felt he’d amount to much or worse yet, he might have a life of pain. But, Jabez started young and prayed for the course of his life to be rerouted.

He prayed and asked God to bless him, to bless him indeed. He prayed his abilities and the places he’d be privy to would be expanded far wider than he could believe.

His request was granted.

“Oh, that you would bless me and expand my territory! Please be with me in all that I do, and keep me from all trouble and pain!” I Chronicles 4:10, NLT

Like Jabez, I’ve been surprised by life and opportunity. I’ve been one held back by family dynamics that caused me as a child to be sure I caused no distress, made no mention of being in need, having needs unmet.

Oh, for the foresight to have prayed the prayer of a child born in pain named Jabez rather than become a young adult who sought conciliation in unhealthy ways and paths that bordered self-destruction.

Still, my road has led me to places scary but protected, my stumbles have met cushions upon my falling, and my failures have not been final. I have now what many call an “Angel Ministry” thanks to my friend Connie from the café. She, one of the many who has provided me opportunities that I might never have been shown had I not decided to ask God to enlarge my borders. I might have longed to simply paint in private.

I may have kept my pieces layered with hymns and expressionless angels to myself, maybe give a few away, leaned others against shelves in my home. Were it not for Connie and my prayers for opportunity; I’d have never used the word “commission” nor discussed prices for pieces of art. I would have never had the confidence to create a page on my blog called “The Art of Quiet Confidence”.

This morning, I happened upon another favorite scripture. It caused me to consider whether David, too may have been changed by the story of Jabez, whether all the opportunities and challenges he approached with the assurance of God were perhaps with a recollection of a boy named Jabez.

For I have surely been blessed indeed. The boundaries and borders have bent my way, led me to consider all the good I never expected to know.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. Psalm 16:6 ESV

Prayerfully waiting and willing to walk in places God decides are mine.

 

 

Linking up with others at Tell His Story.  Jennifer writes about the difference a day can make:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/whatever-youre-facing-now-give-24-hours-first/

Misery and Motivation

Angels, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Yesterday, I read somewhere about the way Jesus cherished Peter, the disciple who denied Him.

I’m thinking this morning, of what motivates me to follow, to know each day invites my turning to God. Morning new mercies are motivation enough; still I let misery take over in regards to what I don’t see and well, I get better at recalling the mercy unending, better as I go.

It astounds me how Jesus knew it would be Peter to deny Him and how he knew and told Peter, “You will, and I’ll confirm my knowing of your choice not to stay loyal by the sound of a rooster, crowing two times to announce your denial.”

“And immediately the rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered how Jesus had said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭14:72‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It astounds me the way the disciples saw so much healing, so much mercy and kindness and were doubtful at times.

I’d love to have met some of the ones healed; the leper, Lazarus, the woman who could not stop bleeding and the man who thought he’d never see. I would treasure talking with Martha, the sister like me who couldn’t slow down long enough to believe; but, then did.

Signs and wonders, yet Thomas needed to see the open wound, needed to touched the body of Jesus, pierced in order to have us believe.

“So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side.

Do not disbelieve, but believe.”

‭‭John‬ ‭20:25-27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

How miserable he surely must have been in his disbelief, to say he would never believe! I wonder just how amazed he was, if his seeing and touching increased his believing or if he continued for all of his days praying for help in his miserable disbelief.

I believe he was motivated by his former misery.

I used to say all sorts of little “motivational mantras” to my children when they were athletes. I must have surely annoyed them to the point of nausea, that and the mandatory daily banana!

Thankfully, if there was eye-rolling, it was not in my presence.

Yes, I am fortunate, I know.

One of my bits of wisdom was:

You can be miserable or you can be motivated. Me

Every bit of wisdom I shared, I was saying so much more clearly back to myself.

It’s the same with my sharing here, on social media or in personal encounters. I’m encouraging, redirecting myself every step of the way, with every exchange.

I believe Peter was more motivated when Jesus invited him again to follow. I believe Thomas’ testimony more profound because Jesus granted him extra mercy to make up for his debilitating doubt.

Me too. I’m motivated by His unending and more than expected mercy.

Turn us to you, God. Show us a life other than miserable doubt and inconsistent faith.

Motivate us Lord, to recall that you are mindful of us and mostly that you’d never choose misery for us; we choose it for ourselves and it surely can be used for good, for motivation to follow, to believe.

I’m thankful for the FMF prompt of motivate. I’ve exceeded the 5 minutes allowed; but I’ll share knowing there’s also mercy in this group of followers who motivate me, one another!

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/01/04/fmf-link-up-motivate/amp/

Called “Precious”

Angels, Art, bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Y’all, I often minimize things or maybe it’s my pattern of not getting too excited about the way my life plays out. It’s not humility, the good kind of staying meek and quiet; it’s truly being joy-filled to the point of oh, my goodness can’t believe I’m seeing this stuff happening in my life.

It’s quiet confidence making itself embraceable, tangible.

And to think,  I’ve only just barely begun to surrender!

 

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“Do not fear, only believe.”  Jesus  

 

You might find it small. I consider it God showing me more clarity every day and that I am loved. Nan Jones found my blog through another blogger. She asked me to write. She first asked me about what is happening in my life now, what are my prayers, what is on my heart. I answered by telling of my prayers for my daughter’s healing and she asked me to write about it.

At first, it was all fluff then I decided to be truthful about fear and believing, the lessons I’ve been learning in my listening.

She’s sharing my words and my art here.  I am so very grateful for yet another person God in his infinite wisdom “enlarged my borders” with, people who I never knew might be my teachers, my guides, my spiritual pointers of the way to walk, to write, to be unafraid.

We’ve never met, yet she says she sees me as “precious” and all I can do is smile and cry just a little to know that I am called precious. Finding God in Quiet Confidence

 

Thank you, Nan! Thank you so!

Seeking

bravery, courage, Faith, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized

After deciding it was the “seeking” part I am not always so intent on; but, the assurance that God had a purpose for my life, I was worried that seeking might not align with being still.

I was reassured by Webster’s defining of “seek”.

a : to go in search of : look for

b : to try to discover

Having decided to be still to know that no time should be considered wasted because of what had not been accomplished in the year or years before.

Still is what I’ll be seeking, still enough to truly see, to listen, to know as I go.

Face down towards the words of God and maybe no set guide or timeline or schedule, truly understanding what it is I am to know, this shall be what I see as seeking.

Why my “one word” makes more sense and gives more hope than I’d expected.

Just a week ago, I told someone my word would be “optimism” and she said well that’s a good one for us all and I just nodded.

Later realizing it wasn’t at all my word, too status quo, too vaguely overarching and one size fits all.

I read Psalm 46:10 and realized I’d probably never been still for very long at all, ever!

That being still simply means anticipating that God is God and I can be still knowing this more profoundly.

Still, He is on the throne.

There is still time and there are still great plans and a purpose I’ve still not fully caught a glimpse of so I must seek like a cat close to the ground waiting to discern when to move. Still like an ancient planner of charts and maps, I must consider carefully the best path.

I must be still.

I must be thoughtful. I must listen more than I speak and meditate more than I mediate.

Some verses we make almost cliche.

Or we cling to the good and positive and hopeful, yet never latch onto the rest of the story. We love God’s part, sometimes skim over the lines explaining ours.

Like a puzzle that is without a corner piece, we will never be complete, will never be able to display ourselves as fully God’s idea until we seek and we find and keep seeking all the pieces he designed to fit together, a display for His glory and purpose.

We might never fully know His plan if we’re content in only half heartedly believing that He has a plan and purpose; yet don’t seek with our whole heart to find, each of us one of God’s masterpieces.

Seeking is our part, not striving and submitting not struggling or manipulating.

The hope and the future, God’s.

#still18

Wording and Waiting

Angels, Art, Faith, Peace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I am strangely becoming more settled.

Countering where I have been with the counterintuitive tilt of my thinking.

I’m sure it’s such a joy to be met by words proclaiming revelation or breakthrough.

Words that invite, oh, let’s watch her now, let’s see if she means it this time.

Then realizing where this morning has me is contradictory in a gradually huge way.

Gradual, a word that feels like ease. Feels like the quiet me.

Accountability matters to women, I read. It’s why we don’t talk about diets, don’t announce our goals, hesitate to bring notice to our habits.

Last year, around this time I decided I’d have a “breakthrough” year. I did and I didn’t.

I didn’t write the manuscript. I did not finish and have barely begun.

I regretted, I panicked, I wanted to hide and I considered all of the let downs.

Myself and others.

I wrote more. Had a chapter published in a book, my name on Amazon. I painted so much more. I read, I noticed God and I was given opportunity. Given not chased after.

I considered new perspectives.

I forgave myself over time.

Asked a friend to hold me accountable, the book and all…all.

A few days ago, I read a verse that most of us know.

I read it differently because of that peace, that change in perspective.

“Be still, and know that I am God! ”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭46:10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The weight of the words, more easy to know, the meaning slightly shifted either all of a sudden or have been all along.

The hashtag “breakthrough17” I boasted of this year enthused me early on and later led to hectic half-hearted writing and rushing.

Days were hectic, my writing a chore, a demand unmet and self-discipline became self-destruction.

I’ve been praying daily in December, equip me to write, help me to focus and give me words that heal not hinder, provide hope, not harm. Honest prayers.

The verse above I saw before of magnitude and strength, words that made sure I knew just how much God can do.

And I always focused on that and still do,

Still know that He is God.

But, as I sit this morning deciding to accept all I’ve not done thus far, I’m content in what has come already, what God has brought my way in ways of opportunities that have eased me forward.

Not pushed my way through…not at all breakthrough speed or fashion.

But, breaking through like the sunrise this morning, pink ribboned sky now fully shining and making shadows, warm and soft.

Yes, this is God’s way for me to see His plan, for others to see Him through me.

A dear, kind friend told me of visiting someone grieving this Christmas.

It wasn’t necessary or required he check in.

But, he did and she thanked him, adding she knew it wasn’t something he had to do.

His reply has changed my heart a little, has softened my striving, has granted me grace in all I’ve not done and had decided was failure.

“I didn’t stop by. ‘Someone Else stopped by through me.” J.

Oh, the humility of stepping aside while stepping towards what God designs.

His reply me that my work, my art, my words will fail me, will fail to come, will fail to find favor, if they are the measure of me.

Has reminded me to be still.

To be quiet.

To be confident in that quiet, that stillness.

He is God. Greater things are still to come.

Still, perhaps my word, “Still18”.

Lost, Found and Reunited

Children, courage, Faith, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

I couldn’t help but think of our reunion when I read the account of Jesus, being found by his parents, thought of our coming reunion after three months in other countries.

I was nervous and excited and relieved; ironically though I’d finally settled into the separation, accepted that my children will be in places that I am not.

Isn’t it just that simple? Oceans apart or fifteen minutes away, a mother’s heart is softened, settled and satisfied the moment she sees her child, is reunited, is simply up close, next to them, their bodies in the same room.

I write monthly for our paper’s supplement in a small rural community. This month, thinking post-Christmas, I thought of Jesus as a boy, getting separated from his parents and then being found again, reunited and relieved.

My heart is lighter, my breathing easier when I turn to see them, my son or my daughter on the threshold of my front door.

Christmas night I was reminded, given gifts unexpected, a beaded cross to hold in my hands, keep ever close and a gift she found and noticed I wanted. She wrapped it splendidly with a ribbon clinched at its knot with a sweet ornament…her little face in the center, I must’ve misplaced it she said. “I found it, thought you’d want it back.”

And our faith’s the same. We welcome its return, we fling wide the door to have it come back in and then stay longer this time. So, I wrote about Jesus being found in the temple, absorbing all he could of His Father and how it made sense he’d wandered away, made perfect sense he was where he needed to be, where we need to be more often.

Here’s my fancy head shot that makes me look all appropriate and so not me; but, I’m grateful to be asked to write.

Going on three years now, the “Faith Column”.

Wisdom, Stature, and Favor

Just within the past month, I have had the opportunity to see the joy on the faces of parents of newborns. A young woman who grew up with my daughter and a neighbor of my daughter, both parents of newborn boys. I said to my daughter something similar each time I saw the infants; “Isn’t God amazing?” Amazing is an understatement, not quite the best description maybe when we think of life being formed in a mother’s womb and fashioned only through the biological makeup and intricacies created by our sovereign God. A child born into a family, evidence of God’s favor.

You may have spent some time in the Book of Luke last month. I believe God intends that we uniquely experience his word each time we read. This year, I read the Christmas story and pondered the time in between the birth of Jesus being foretold to the holy night of his birth.

My interest was piqued over the time in between; I longed to know more of Mary, more of Joseph. Wished it possible to understand how they endured the wait with hope and trust.

The second chapter in the book of Luke moves from the birth of Jesus to his preteen years. We read that Jesus grew in stature and wisdom in verse 40, And the child grew and became strong; he was full of wisdom, and the grace of God was on him. Isn’t that true of each of our children, each of us, the grace of God, a promise has been and is upon them?

Through Luke’s recording of the young Jesus, we don’t get the chance to know of his toddler years, whether he slept through the night, of the days he began to play, how his speech developed or how he matured from boy to young man. Again, these details are left for us to consider.

In verse 41, we read of the traditional trip to Jerusalem taken by Joseph and Mary. The account of Jesus getting separated from them always reminds me of times my children “hid” from me in the racks of garments in a shop or the times one of them did wander away, I’d turned, and they’d “disappeared.”

A parent’s worse fear combined with most graphically imagined outcome followed by finding them and their sweet face smiling upwards, they were just fine.

Joseph and Mary were worried, panicked, astonished over where they found Jesus after a whole three days.

Can you imagine their horror and then their joy?

Like any parent, they questioned why he would put them through such distress. But, Jesus, the twelve-year-old explains to them they should not have been surprised at all, for they of all people should know His calling to be where His Father would have him be.

When his parents saw him, they were astonished. His mother said to him, “Son, why have you treated us like this? Your father and I have been anxiously searching for you.”

49 “Why were you searching for me?” he asked. “Didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?”[a] 50 But they did not understand what he was saying to them.

Their frustration must have turned to understanding.

I’m thinking of the two babies I’ve only just seen, the infant expected in the Spring, my niece’s first, and the hope for grandchildren one day.

I’m thinking of my children as well. Of the times uncertain of their welfare, their whereabouts; but, being assured once I saw them, they had been with God, God with them.

There was no reason for me to fear.

As we move into the new year, may we meditate more on the word of God. Delve in more profoundly and consider the relevance of this Holy book.

May we all increase in wisdom and stature and favor with God and man, just as Luke described the growing up of Jesus us the final verse of Chapter Two. Even Jesus knew the importance of learning more about His Father.

Undoubtedly, we should as well.

Get lost, then found and be reunited with the Father.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who has had a trying Christmas interrupted by illness, but continues to keep us all focused and faithful.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/christmas-didnt-turn-like-expected-dispatch-hospital-waiting-room/

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Cats, Cards and Christ

Advent, courage, Faith, grace, heaven, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, wonder

Christmas cards fastened by clips to twine looped like a garland and no idea why, but I left this little kitty cat on the shelf.

Except it’s where it’s always been and I believe I brought it home from my mama’s or I picked it up when we all went “junkin'”.

I pulled a piece of greenery from my centerpiece and decided the cat should wear it around its neck.

Made a little circle, too small and decided oh well, I’ll add some twine, make it fit.

Now the black cat with polka dots who lives on my shelf looks different, looks like Christmas.

This morning, I read a verse from John. Lots of people know it, children can recite it; it’s a simple one that has another that follows and expands its meaning.

So many times I read only part, retain only a portion, there’s always more for me to know, more to surprise me by my knowing.

About God’s ways, His love, His wants for me, for us all.

This verse is best left simple, best brought to mind at Christmas. We may revisit Luke or Matthew or Mark; maybe Isaiah, looking for the story of Christmas.

We might remember the prophecies of old or cling to and listen more with an idea of hopeful truth that yes, a baby was born a long time ago and it was a sweet, sweet story, so spectacular it seems a fairy tale.

But, simply not so. Spectacular yes.

But fairy tale, no.

Our lives are changed because God made it possible for them to be changed, made new.

Because God loved the world He created.

And since it all got and gets a little sideways still

And He knows it. He gave His Son, His only Son.

Jesus.

Christ.

So, we could have eternal life, not perish in the mess we’ve made of what He created.

In the Book of John, Jesus explains his purpose to a Pharisee named Nicodemus who was a ruler and had a very hard time believing what Jesus made so simple to hear.

What is still so simple to hear. But hard to believe for some, hard to accept.

“For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him.”

‭‭John‬ ‭3:16-17‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I sent a few cards this year, not nearly as many as I should.

Small and simple little cards with a sweet tree on the front unadorned with lights, just a tiny tree.

I added to the message of Merry Christmas

only the beginning,

For God so loved the world…

And then I signed, “love in Christ, Lisa”

Hoping I’d left room for longing to know more or that I reminded all who already know and like me can always, always use reminding.

That God is love and that Jesus was born to save all who will believe.

believe, life will surprise you…

Brandon Heath

(lyrics I rest with)

I Say I Believe

Advent, Angels, courage, Faith, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I just spoke with a precious soul who says she feels stuck. She says she can’t fathom how things might be because all she can think of is her guilt over what has not been yet.  All she can think of is this possibility that it might not turn out right again, that what she knows God wants her to believe might not be true.

She calls me her angel and I tell her  “Oh, I’m no angel.”

She said she read this morning about waiting and she felt the most real feeling that clear skies and days are coming soon. She said she felt God telling her that.

And so I told her, then hold on tight to that. Feel the feeling you have when you’re sure good is coming, when you believe what you’ve just said to me, silence the voices set up by your past that say nothing good is ever possible and all your dreams are empty promises.

That’s tough for one conditioned to expect hardship, tough for one accustomed to trauma and only beginning to climb the ladder of seeing more clearly what she might take the chance of believing.

She cried and she cried, streams of tears I thought I should lean towards her and catch in the palm of my hand.  Stop using “stuck” I told her, that’s not a word God would use to describe this time; God might use wait or trust or believe; but, I don’t believe he told you this morning you’re stuck.

She agreed and was better, only momentarily I know, still waiting to see if things will come true. We’ll talk again soon and I’ll remind her of taking steps and I’ll tell her not to be afraid, this time next year,  your life is going to be very different. Her eyes were brighter than before. She smiled, nodded. She knew.

I believe it.

The Book of Luke opens with the account of a righteous couple, Elizabeth and her husband Zechariah. Both of them old and with no children.

Elizabeth was barren. Zechariah had no son to carry on his name.

He was a priest and a dutiful man. I would imagine had accepted their marriage would be childless and they were set in their ways.

The angel Gabriel appeared to Zechariah and told him, you’re going to be a father.  Elizabeth is going have a son. He should be named John and he has a purpose, God is giving you this son and this son, John will prepare the way for Jesus. His purpose will be to ready the way for the Lord.

Zechariah was afraid. He questioned the possibility of this outlandish announcement by an angel who appeared as he carried out his priestly chores.

And then he was silent.

Zechariah said to the angel, “How can I be sure this will happen? I’m an old man now, and my wife is also well along in years.”

Then the angel said, “I am Gabriel! I stand in the very presence of God. It was he who sent me to bring you this good news! But now, since you didn’t believe what I said, you will be silent and unable to speak until the child is born. For my words will certainly be fulfilled at the proper time.” Luke 1:18-20

This passage stirs my curiosity. Did Zechariah persist in his argument? Was he made mute because of his arguments and insisting impossibility?

Or was Zechariah silenced for fear that his questions might lessen the magnitude of the angel’s appearing, of God’s plans for the coming John, making the way for Jesus?

Zechariah could not speak until the baby was born, required to wait until what he doubted was fulfilled.

Was he simply not prepared to share a story of such magnitude?!

Everyone must have wondered. He exited the temple to a throng of confused faces, tried to express what had happened using his hands in motion and then went home to wait with Elizabeth, hidden for five months. Was she afraid of announcing her miracle, was she waiting to be sure she was far enough along to make known she was with child?

Was there evidence of what the angel said?

Did she wait for the feeling of tiny foot in her torso or the flutter stirring up next to her soul, that mother thing we call intuition?

After six months the angel appeared to Mary, told her about Elizabeth and told her she too would conceive a baby. Mary was afraid, how could it be possible? I am young. I am a virgin.  The angel told her of Elizabeth’s conception, told her “nothing will be impossible with God.’ Luke 1: 37

And Mary began to believe and hurried to visit Elizabeth to see.

She walked through the door and the baby inside the womb of Elizabeth sensed the spirit already in Mary and responded with joyous movement.

Sort of an affirmation, yes, it is true.

They decided themselves both blessed.

When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. In a loud voice, she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!” Luke 1: 41-45

Meanwhile, Zechariah remained mute.

I imagine he had things to say, just couldn’t figure out how or maybe a welcome relief to be unable to speak.

Nobody waiting to listen, oh, his words would surely need to be profound.

An excuse for being sure enough of his words, certain of his proclamation, excited over his announcement.

I met with a friend last week. Gave her the first chapter of a book idea and asked her if she found it too brave.

I’ve asked her to be my writing accountability partner.

Told her I’m stuck.

We talked of how I’m conflicted over some things, write brave and authentic truths or water down and make pretty at least for the few minutes someone reads it to feel they might make it through.

I expected her to say don’t unearth everything.  Don’t be too hard, don’t cause others to worry or to feel uneasy. She said let God bring you the things needed to remember, don’t fret over what you can’t. Time has passed. Good will come from recollection you’re supposed to tell.

We talked about one memory and I shared with her what a revelation it was to hear a long ago memory of me, not at all pleasant; but true.

It was strangely affirming.

We both smiled and she said “How many women have felt the same way, regretted the same behavior and yet, long for someone else to say “me too?”

I’m more silent now and okay with it really.

I’m not unable to write, just waiting to be sure that the words I write will be the ones that God wants others to hear.

Like Zechariah, when questioned, why are you not naming your baby after yourself, to carry on the name, this is what’s expected and you finally got your chance?

Not just doing what’s expected.

“No.”, Elizabeth said and he agreed, we will do as God has planned. His name will be John and when asked to record the name in writing, the name Gabriel, the angel had advised them of, Zechariah’s voice returned, he could speak of his son.

He waited and in time, found his voice still there.

I will not give up on the story, the one I call “The Colors of My Bible”. I’ll just not rush it, conflicted over how it will be welcomed or whether others will approve sufficiently. I’ll wait until the words come back, until the time God knows I truly believe in His design, not mine.

Because, I’ve not been visited by an angel; but, I refuse to believe this idea just came from nowhere, the telling of my colorful redemption story and the women who gave me hope.

I may just write about the dogs for a bit, paint some angels, jot down my prayer list, being sure to include “walk closely with Jesus”, a new daily one.

I may simply write about geese that fly over or the funny way it sounds to tell of “my embroidery” hobby.  I may slip in some stories about my family. I’ll continue to write about hope and heaven.

I’ll write about noticing God still.

Until I’m able to write the words so clearly, so truly, so hope-filled that I will be able to say Yes, this is my treasure, thank you for this treasure I thought impossible.

I’ve just written over 1400 words here and I’m betting someone’s gonna say, “Man, she’s all over the place!”

But, it’s good, good for me to write. Good will get better, better will get right.

For now, I’ll hold onto that feeling, the feeling that good is coming.

Not stuck, but waiting.

The truth I say I believe and told another the same.

Good things are just around the bend.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story.

Handwork

Art, Children, family, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I decided I could and so I began.

All the colors of fine silky floss of embroidery laid across the arm of the sofa.

I’m only two down with five to go.

I’m looping little french knotted threads in bright colors, little knots, ornaments on the tree.

And I vaguely remember the knot technique, the other stitches are abstract, just color, giving idea of light and branch.

And I’m thinking about this idea I had, embroidering our stockings this year.

And thinking ahead to the next, maybe I’ll add more color each year, more little dots depicting ornament.

Then, a thought I loved, not found unnatural at all.

I thought, I hoped, I imagined that one day these stockings might be hung in the home of my daughter, my son and that they’d run their fingers over the textured dots of color and they’d think of me.

Think of my handwork.

The work of my hands.