Going There

courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

There’s a place I’d like to go except that it’s hard to go there. I imagine the plans, think of the beginnings and I understand the decision; but, wish it made sense for now.

It wasn’t a trailer, it was a mobile home. It was big and solid and positioned in the spot away from pines but cushioned by the shade of trees. Its foundation was intentional and solid, not blocks strategic in their placement, no there was a real foundation.

My parents’ last home, the home place. They waited a long time to be there.

The home was stable, designed with stability in mind; it sat on a firm foundation.

The road to turn towards the place is still dirt. A slight left at the bottom of the hill will carry you through a narrow path and a field to the place it still sits.

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It’s been a long while since I’ve gone to the empty house. Someone asked recently, “When’s the last time you went?” I answered, “A long time, hard to think about it.”

Then nothing else was said.

It’s still standing despite years and weather and no touch from the hands of family. But, still standing because it was built on a permanent foundation.

The place of its situation is level and smooth, built on faith, dreams and hope and it was good.

It was loved. It was loved well and will be again…at the appointed time.

Yesterday, I heard a quick word about good things that come at appointed times. Things that come when we reject the hindrance of doubt. Essentially the words reminded me, God is good and Lisa, he wants good things for you. He knows the things you long for, things that have been established ahead of time to come to you.

The foundation is there. The building up is happening, maybe you don’t see it. Maybe you want to rush in, rebuild, tear down,start over. You look back at what was or you look at the passing of time and fear the longing to build will be forsaken…you’ll accept the falling down of the roof and the rotting of the boards because you understand it can’t happen on desire alone.

And some of the tools of the rebuilding are simply not yours, are not matters in your hands.

At the appointed time, though, if you believe, it will come to pass.

The foundation will be there underneath it all. It will be steady. It will not have moved.

Waiting for the time to build again, a place to gather and remember our family, our foundation, to built on strength and heart and patience.

Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:14

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Morning Love and a Prayer to abide

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

Lord, help me live in a way that my actions,my thoughts and my words can’t help but show how strongly you love.

And help me to be so trusting in my walk and so firm in my faith that no doubt or fear will hinder or make questionable my belief in You.

Remind me of the place of your dwelling, my heart, so that the ramblings of my mind not overshadow the Spirit of you, the Holy Spirit in me because of Jesus and mercy and grace, unmerited…unmerited.
Guide me to find you again and again and to remain there, that a place of abiding in you.

Lead my fingers to the words of ancient truth, truer today than I’ve known before.

Do not love the world.

Love God. Love your brother.

Abide in light.
I John 2:7-17

In the name of and because of Jesus, I pray.

Amen

I will pray

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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On a blue, blue summer day I drove to see a friend, one of the women who’d colored my life.

I knew all would be okay, would be good actually, when I turned off the highway from the usual road. I’d traveled before, this road towards home, countless times.

The vicinity of my destination for today was close by, just a different direction.

Others might not understand the nervous place in the hollow spot adjacent to my heart or the need to go back to a place of then to acknowledge now.

So, I’d been praying as I drew closer to now.

I’m taking this journey in increments, circling back to be reacquainted. It’s a challenge of my faith in me and an act of gratitude for them.

The road just a few minutes from my friend was a thin grey thread towards a needle, narrow because of wide sky and corn field borders.

Its curves were easy, not sharp, its little hills and softly, forwardly coaxing me, like God’s hand resting on the small of my back, saying

“Getting closer, keep on.”

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There were big houses along the way set back behind fences and oaks and there were small little white ones, tiny porches and trailers up on cinder blocks, cool under shade of fully grown and lush July green.

A small brick home, a couple of old cars and a bed of roses at its entry made me wonder.

Off to the side, a simple sign like garage sale or politician’s was positioned just so, leaning only slightly despite storm I’d been warned of.

Bold, simple, intentionally brief; but with exclamation at the end.

“I will pray!”

Yesterday I prayed, most days I pray at set times and randomly.

My heart sought assurance and in return I noticed the sweetness of answer.

I welcomed answer and prayed in reply with a slight smile no one might notice, “Thank you for that, God. Thank you, Lord.”

Some would say, if I shared my prayer and the evidence of its hearing…that’s silly, you just worry or that’s no big miraculous reply.

It is and it was and it’s why I believe.

In God who is just as majestically sovereign as He is miraculously small, attentively swift.

Yesterday morning and again last night, I prayed. “God, help our country.”

And I wondered about the past, my parents, my grandparents and those recalled in history, when times looked as bleak and scary and incomprehensible as they do now.

I wondered why or if there are people like me who pray about children, friends, husbands, or a heart’s desire…but are now, just now we are praying… God, help our country and maybe, like me, are torn between

“Come, Lord Jesus” and “Trust and Obey”

And our prayerful mama hearts want much for our children and theirs…want time and hope and good things. We long for happy futures, faith-filled lives filled with smiling babies and beauty.

I wonder if there were times like these before.

Times when all felt lost and uncertain. Times of Job, of Isaiah and of Moses, of David, of Martha, Mary and Paul.

I listen for their cries for help in the words of my Bible and I search for God’s replies, finding them in thousands of places, replies of good and everlasting joy and of protection and favor in midst of struggle.

I hear God saying to them, to me.

“Choose me. Choose joy.”

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice;
let them ever sing for joy,
and spread your protection over them,
that those who love your name may exult in you.

For you bless the righteous, O’ Lord; you cover them with favor as with a shield. Psalm 5:11-12

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I embraced my friend, told her I expected I’d cry and we cried and talked and shared onion rings and fries.

I prayed and she told me she’d been praying and we reminded each other of ourselves and our unanswered prayers for our good and we prayed, we pray. We will pray, we agreed.

It was easy and good and love. I left her sweet house with emotions that beg for holding onto, the description of our time and our talk resting safely for awhile in a place so closely real and beautifully raw.

So, I drove back towards Carolina, indescribably, thankfully good, especially glad.

The pretty road just as pretty and the view different only because of direction and another house…white, small but with big trees, tiny porch and front yard sign proclaiming,

I will pray!

Let us pray.

I will pray.

Linking up to Tell God’s story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

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Finer Moments

Uncategorized

I woke early today.

Up and journaling prayer of giving of the day back to God for its unfolding in ways He has planned.

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For His help in my mind and heart’s accepting of the unfolding, for help in the embrace of and understanding of its revealing or not revealing.

For a day devoid of expectations, only an ear and eye that leans towards joy.

The birds begin then, so early is my rising that I’ve just heard their song.

Thinking of art and of writing, of expression for sake of expression and the weight of possibility and result or not.

I may hear I’ve sold a painting this week.

I heard from a publisher and accepted a small assignment.

The work of craft bending towards approval or disdain.

Pencil in hand, I record another prayer, add detail to a tiny painting I called Pond at Peacock Hill.

It’s home and memory and longing.

Painted on Saturday, time on my hands. Thinking I’ll finish this piece and then reach for the tiny jar and brushes, the little notebook thick with paper, I paint for just a little bit.

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Rich blue, mossy green and translucent grey bluish whites.

Moments, just a few is all; yet sweeter, feeling finer and better for them, though.

The dogs are barking, birds clustered together now and bouncing verse from pine to pine.

I wait, intentional in the moments, the finer moments of waking early.

Thinking, trying not to think too hard, deciding I should be more anxious, perhaps.

I’m taking a trip today. Visiting a friend who I haven’t seen in so long I resist calculating the years as it may make more concerning the reacquaintance.

Choosing to think more simply, adding more sentences to penciled prayer, I am slow to move and pray.

Lord, these words, these colors…let them be a legacy of my gratitude for the finer moments of my life. Let my recordings and my rendering point only to you.

Of adding paint to paper and written word to thought.

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Because you’ve given me the moments to do this, Lord.

Your hand is with me. You’ve blessed me, indeed.

To wake to early morning and to travel a new road, unafraid.

…a time and season for everything, everything under heaven. Ecclesiastes 3:1

For these moments, I thank you.

Believe it So

Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized

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This beautiful creature sashay’d up just steps behind me. I’m not sure if sashay is a word; but, I love it and that’s what this spectacularly smooth bird did.

Just softly lingered close behind and cared not one tiny bit that I stopped, thinking hurry up, be quick before it lifts widening wing and takes to the pearly blue sky.

I shuffled my feet, thinking I’d startle, then walked a little more. I stopped, he stopped, his stick-like black bent legs, a rhythm we fell into, this beautiful creature and I.

I thought, there is meaning in this.

I know that there is.

I thought of heaven, thought of them. It seemed it was meant for me to…seemed it was him, my daddy.

And then, today beginning with prayer, I record an honest offering of miserable need…Lord, why do I find it so hard to be optimistic? Why this quickness to take offense, feel attacked, belittled?

Left it there, better already for the honesty at least. I go on with my morning.

More silent songs streaming, more writing stories from thoughts and more chance to allow day to open on its own, in its own time.

So hot here, the sweet potato vine, a vibrant lime now droopy, I decide to walk towards pretty pot and grab water jug my husband has set aside.

I water the green, the violet and the yellow, small act that matters…flowers that greet me and that see me go.

Little things like purple heather and vine matter when all else feels awry.

Walking back towards garage and car ready for work, I glance towards the drive, look towards my feet and see it there.

A gift, a tiny, tiny gift. We called them “baby pine cones”…my Heather and me. She’d find them and bring them to me.

Her sweet hand to mine. “Look, mama, I found this for you.”

I held it in my palm, gave it a place on my desk.

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Made and makes me so, so happy still.

God reminding me that He knows so very well my need for little and for beautiful.

So, I bent to touch it, to keep it and I felt my prayers heard and this little pine cone came in reply,

“I have heard. I see…here, remember this and things like this…

Believe in birds and baby pine cones and in me.

My eye is on you.

You matter to me..believe it is so.

Believe it is so when all other feels like not so.”

The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

Zephaniah 3:17

I’m linking up to Tell God’s story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

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Welcome, Rain

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

I welcome the grey sky and the swaying pines, looking towards kitchen window, I’m anticipating a good rain.

I chose today to rest. Said yesterday, if I can finish this, I’ll stay home tomorrow.

I worked with the goal of completing the task and tried my best to express differently, convey more clearly a need for support.

I’m anxious. I’m apathetic. I fear it may show.

I’d said it all before, usually mostly the same ways in copy paste fashion. Asking for support, articulating a need and lining it up with a result, an outcome.

I write grants, ask for money to help homeless families.

It’s impossible to share in full how important our interventions are. It’s even harder to ask for money, to sell your heart’s work as if it’s a product or commodity.

Hard to think business when your work thrives on heart.

So, I let it rest.

The incomplete application saved to resume on Monday.

Walk away from it. Let it sit. Let it rest.

Deciding to start fresh another day. For now, Friday feels like Saturday and I walk out into the yard, the view from kitchen window making me hopeful for rain.

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I rest a minute, the thunder’s way off. Hydrangea and hosta, richer, deeper blue and green, waiting in shade of intermission.

Then, the rain comes.

101 degrees just moments ago, I watch rain through the window, thin and straight sheets like arrows.

Just a few minutes and it’s done, so I go to see the flowers planted round the pool, bright again and refreshed.

The pool empty and shimmery blue, a single leaf floating in repose.

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Thunder again in the distance, inviting more rest and more rain.

I welcome you, rest and rain. I welcome your blessing, your end to my season of draught. Welcome, rain.

And I will make them and the places all around my hill a blessing, and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing.

Ezekiel 34:26

Encounters, Grief and Joy

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I was more than a little excited to see her. She and I, I realized when we met almost four years ago now, had the same long, slow southern accent.

I was sure she must be from Georgia and even more sure, I decided, we had to be distant relatives. Her dialect, her slow and lilting sentences ending with just a slight upturn. Well, she sounded like me I decided and so, I was happy to know her.

So, when I saw her on an early morning estate sale venture, I couldn’t wait to say, “Hey” and “Oh my Lord it’s been a really long time.”

I was joyous to see her there.

I wasn’t prepared for her response, she leaned back, was hesitant. I figured “Oh well, she doesn’t remember me” or does but, can’t remember how. Still, I was just so happily surprised over seeing her again.

I should have read her cues, should have seen it for what it was.

Instead, I added, “Remember, from the group?” She said, “I remember.” nothing more. It was clear she wished I hadn’t reminded her, refreshed the memory.

It was humid; awkward and cramped, standing amongst the trinkets, treasures,and big patterned armchairs.

She’d moved away, opened an antique shop in a pretty little town. She’d come back, was in charge of the sale that day.

Someone offered a fan, she replied “I’m fine.” and turned to look towards the drive so I wandered to the back porch and into the little house.

I continued to explore, found a pretty little bud vase and a bird for me and a rooster for the sake of memory of mama. I held my little things close to my chest and went to pay. Her eyes met mine and I said, “I hope you’re doing well and I apologize if I overwhelmed you when I saw you.” She said, “That’s okay.” Nothing more. I added, always the one trying to fix the messes I make, to undo the damage, “We were in the mountains and I was so close to your antique shop; but, couldn’t find time to come.” Again, no reaction really, just another nod.

Finally, I said what I should have said in the beginning and maybe again as I left with a simple goodbye.

“It’s so good to see you again. I hope you are doing well.”

My happiness over seeing her came from a place of recalling our connection, of remembering her sincerity and kind, kind heart, although grieving.

Her seeing me changed the course of her day, turned back the clock, flipped the page to the time and the memory of loss.

And mine as well, to the night she talked and I listened.

To her story of a sorrow I dont know, haven’t felt, only have heard.

Each heart knows its own bitterness,
and no one else can share its joy.

Proverbs 14:10

It was so good to see her, I hope she is doing well.

All is Grace

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, Uncategorized

When it happens you will sense it. When a gathering brings a chance to pause and the evidence of grace looms large, an aura of God will capture your eye, captivate your thoughts.

You’ll find yourself immersed in a grace God promised all along.

You will know this time is one to treasure. You’ll not dwell on the doubt you had so long and so often expecting such grace and good in things that weren’t for you.

You might have decided to settle for less, half-heartedly longing for more. Perhaps, adjusted high expectations, dreams, regrets and accomplishments less than what you’d dreamt of, even driven towards.

You may realize that letting go and letting God was not as much struggle, just reluctant acceptance still sort of wishing for whatever. Eventually you accept a different way with only small little moments of wondering why or why not.

Looking so intently, striving for what amounts to joy that we chance missing the grace.

But, then grace, not one to give up, finds and overwhelms with its delicately powerful and undeniable presence.

“…we could never learn to be brave and patient if there were only joy in the world.” Helen Keller

On an evening to gather in the country for supper, the sky so wide and stormy, I’ve no desire to go inside. But, I do, offering to help prepare. The kitchen window, wide open to sky, I’m distracted by glory.

Looking through windows covered by gauzy linen, I pause again. The beauty of this place astounds me.

All is grace, I think.

To me, it was a heavenly occurrence here on earth, a soft nod of grace and assurance, remembering the words I’d scribbled on my husband’s Father’s Day card…”We are blessed.”and sitting in room with assurance of grace.

All is grace, I know.

Relentlessly Quiet

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

It’s a practice, maybe more like a ritual, this morning thing I do.

An intentional discipline, I suppose. Sometimes motivated by an open mind, others, if I’m honest, an idle mind longing for more time to be idle.

Seeking for something indicative of hope or something demonstrative of my commitment. I guess, maybe I’m sometimes looking for the fruits of my laborious devotion.

The discipline of devotion, I sit in my quiet spot with a noisy mind.

Realizing, intentional discipline and the pursuit of God turn out to be not much more than duty, sometimes.

Looking for holy becomes holier than thou.

Not always, but pretty often, if I’m honest.

I finished my reading and got ready for the day, stopping suddenly and clearly with interrupted thoughts of the day to come.

So, I just waited, holding on to what I knew to be a word from God, as if to say.

My waiting, actually quiet enough finally. must have been noticed by God.

I believe.

“I’m glad you’re listening. This is what I want you to know. This is what I have for you today.”

And there it was, my reply

“I want to do more for you, Jesus.”

Then, carrying this little few seconds around with me all day, I smiled, thinking maybe God smiled too at the simplicity of my words in the quiet of empty morning house.

Standing still, toothbrush in hand, frothy lips and thankful heart, the irony of my devotion time.

I considered his relentlessly gentle pursuit of me.

Jesus, the shepherd, waiting quietly for my attention.

Pursuing me, one of his sheep distracted by life, habit and duty.

My sheep hear my voice and I know them and they follow me.

John 10:27

Happy to be found and happy to hear, like morning interrupting my morning.

The birds incessant, the dogs insistent.

I ventured out, found and tossed tennis ball and paused to notice God in the pleasant chill of summer breeze.

Ball retrieved and dropped, “thump” at my feet, he waits as I stand barefoot in moist green grass, wisps of cool on my cheeks.

And then, more wisdom, subtle in its delivery, a “Lisaism” .

“God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.”

Giving Them Back

Children, courage, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, Uncategorized

…She continued praying before the Lord.
I Samuel 1:12

The wonder of the Bible is that you may have heard or read something before, but read again and just one verse will stick, maybe your ears are different, your situation or your place of mind and heart.

The telling of another’s struggle, their story read again or attended to in a new way as if written just for you.

And you might not be in that “place” right then, but there’s a familiarity of there that astounds and resounds.

Hannah was a woman of great endurance and there must have been times she quietly trusted, but others she cried out; she cried out to the point of people thinking she must be either drunk or crazy.

Seriously, this is why I love my Bible! Because haven’t we all been there? Longing for what our hearts told us could and should be a part of our life? Longing for resolution?

These not so quiet prayers make us anxious, a little crazy and might cause others concern.

These are not the easy prayers. Offered up and left for fulfillment.

These are the prayers for good in bad or hopeless, exhausted. These are the prayers of women, of mothers.

Hannah endured. She made it clear to God that she would be a good mother, she’d be thankful for His blessing and she’d give it right back to Him.

How did you endure? they may have asked.

And her reply was my reply.

“I opened my hand, my fingers relaxed, my palm towards heaven and said, This is your child, God, have your will.”

She’d remember her answered prayer.

Others thought she shouldn’t be so vocal, so steadfast, so committed to her request.

But, God heard and God answered.

So, may we remember prayers like that and may we remember God’s answers to them.

May we remember He blessed our endurance.

With good things like children.

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