My friend told me, “Your art is very calming.”
I paint with all my heart, usually start a painting and finish it in a day.
I’m frantic in my process; yet, oblivious, content.
I paint as I write. Honest, brave and from my heart.
Otherwise, it’s contrived and it’s letters, words and colors.
Not art.
Not soul.
I sold a painting today. It’s one that I loved.
I have only recently been brave enough to share my art, my soul.
I walked again on the beach this morning. The birds were gathered, foamy white gathered at their feet.
The air was cold, crisp and damp.
Just a few people out, dogs, toddlers and joggers.
I’d grabbed a jacket, thrown on over T-shirt and pajama pants; my only thought, just to walk on the shore.
I’m thinking now, what freedom…to be unconcerned about appearance, seeking only to be filled, fulfilled, connected to God.
I’m not quite sure if it’s age or wisdom or wisdom because of age.
I care a little less about appearance in comparison to other women; still, not nearly enough yet.
I sat next to and walked amongst throngs of women this weekend. All moms of a Citadel cadet, all shown up, fixed up.
There to see ours sons, while looking at each other.
Beautiful women, tall, thin, heavy, dressy, sporty, dresses, shorts jeans, heels, flats, fancy sunglasses, perfect hair, ponytails and buns.
Women, looking for sons and looking at each other.
I was an overweight teenager. I spent hours looking at Glamour magazines, longing to be thin, pretty, a “Glamour do”.
I learned to starve. I learned to starve more and I had more clothes than most, yet never enough.
I lived this way for too many years.
I sat just behind a woman about my age this weekend in a football stadium. I fixated again, it had been awhile. I found myself longing for all she seemed to be.
Her purse, its label, one that comes with a price..around $599.00
I noticed her wristwatch, casually resting against a delicate gold bracelet. Her jeans were smooth in texture, a fabric akin to dry cleaned slacks. Her thin belt, a correspondent to flat leather shoes.
Her cardigan, loose on shoulders fit perfectly to show the subtle gold looped chain that centered itself against crisp white top. Her earrings, thin hoops of gold accented her cheekbones and spoke of casual femininity.
I thought, ” I’d really love a watch like that.”
I’ve not had opportunity to splurge. I’ve not been afforded with riches or income that allow spending without concern.
I’ve become content in the extravagance of a mom who wants her children to have more. I have seen goodness, the goodness of enough, of God.
So, I sat there in the stadium and I thought in a new way, to visualize her riches on me. I wondered if life might be better.
I saw myself wearing her watch. Rising from my seat, reaching for the soft leather of her purse, my purse. I pictured me in her outfit; I imagined my face framed by soft cardigan and pretty earrings…
And I realized; clearly, nothing changed. I am me.
She is she.
This morning, I read only one devotion, my routine different because of travel. I read from Jesus Calling.
Found feather
I read of God illumined in me, of His gift in me…Beautiful.
In me, with me. I gently laid the feather found. This one, washed and covered in gritty sand.
I settled it there to rest.
Battered and imperfect, redeemed.
Beautifully redeemed.
For it is not with perishable things such as silver or gold that you have been redeemed . I Peter 1:18
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.
http://jenniferdukeslee.com/six-words-that-can-make-all-the-difference-today-tellhisstory/
When the sun came back
It was late in the evening that clouds broke a little.
The sunlight, a glow, seeping downward
As if to only have just a little to give
But, to remind
I’m still here and just wanted to pop in so you’d know, I’ve not abandoned you, I will see you
You will see tomorrow. The sun will come out tomorrow.
And it did.
Praying for all of those with flooded homes, loved ones lost, those who will forever see rain and feel storm.
I woke up feeling blah and my mind went back to a certain word.
Words are light
I hear a word, find a word it’s descriptive nature so truthful, so perfect… that I go back and ponder its meaning.
Thinking, “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant, so clearly what I felt”.
I’m hesitant to say this.
Not everyone has a love for words like me.
Not all people are “noticers” as my friend who understands me says we are.
“We notice things.” he says.
We linger in thoughtful remembrance of meaning.
My children, when they were younger, rolled their eyes, groaned and said “Why do you always have to use such big words? Just use normal words!”
I refused to be swayed. “Why would we have words, if not to use them? If you have words, you should use them.”
This morning, I woke with a sense of apathy.
I used that word last week when describing my concern over tone in voice that had me worried, an impenetrable attitude, a denial of doubting; yett, their tone spoke a resigned disbelief in most everything.
I told my friend, “There was just such apathy in their voice.”
And then, another friend, I saw this forlorn resignation her face.
A face that’s been saying for so long, “All is well.” had changed just slightly, head tilted, eyes more downward.
Perhaps that day they woke with apathy…woke with indifference.
Apathy
I heard apathy in the story of a child’s unthinkable choice.
Heard it in a story unexpected, tragic loss that made absolutely no sense. Heard it in the voice of a friend grieving.
Yesterday evening, the heavy stories piled up and I decided I must go for a walk!
I walked and was briefly a little better, guided by sunset horizon of rose-colored clouds.
It had been a while since sunlight.
My daughter, camera in hand, crouched in grassy roadside field taking photos
Seeing her, seeking beauty of light
like me.
Laughter, between us before bed as I disciplined my thoughts to continue towards hope.
Praying, believing.
Woke this morning and there it was to welcome me, apathy.
I woke with sense of “No need, doesn’t matter anyway”.
Woke with the notion that I’ve worn out my welcome at the feet of the father. That I’ve talked it to death, that I’ve become quite the nuisance.
The outcome’s been determined already anyway, why must you belabor the matter?
But then, my thoughts went to what I know, surrender and abiding.
I wondered how is apathy any different from surrender?
If I surrender, I trust.
If I surrender, I am remembering that God is Sovereign…yielding.
Surrender to light
A surrendered heart is a heart with light, a heart that is resting, not doubting.
Apathy feels like God has done more than he should. More than He will, that woeful mindset of bad things already to come.
Apathy is darkness, doubt and disconnect. Surrender is abiding in light.
The light makes all the difference.
“And we thank Thee that the darkness reminds us of light.” T.S. Eliot
This was my instagram caption on the day I decided to paint and to “do the thing I must do that I thought I could not do.”
Because if you love something so much it’s a treasure, your soul’s salve, you just don’t want to run the risk of tainting that relationship, that charm you hold close.
You know, the thing that’s yours and yours alone, so you keep it close, and comfortable and safe.
It all started with a conversation about hanging art. I said casually, “I paint” which led to the owner of a new shop asking to see my work. So, I took the next step towards that must do thing, went home and began to paint.
Painted for four hours straight on a misty Saturday,
Went back with ready to hang pieces, given names that she called stories. The story part, I loved the most.
Yesterday, Heather called to say “Guess what happened! I came to the shop to see your paintings and you had just sold one, the owner was getting ready to call you. It was the Isle of Palms painting.” 
Less than two hours earlier I told my cousin “I sort of regret taking them.” I had already convinced myself that I’d end up bringing them back home and my walls would be even more covered with my art. My house is full of art.
They’d be safe again, from critique, from judgement, from wondering “How on earth I could have thought of myself as an artist? ”
“But, it’s only been a week, I shouldn’t give up yet.” I said.
Here’s how things can happen.
You do something you’ve been afraid to do.
You’re vulnerable enough to be brave enough to allow your treasure to be seen.
You expose your heart’s desire to the world, because of dreams and thoughts of why not and you move closer towards confidence that seeks no validation.
You sell one piece of art, a painting called “Letting Go – Isle of Palms”.
You decide to paint again, before you decide it’s too scary.
To do that “must do thing” because you fear you will again think you cannot.
The geese were back this morning.
First time in days.
I turned to make my way back inside, stopping to gather fallen leaves and heard their approach.Their sound a celebration of the day, exuberant and joyous it seemed.
I held fragile leaves in my hand, turned towards the sounds of geese and joined in their flight, my mind there with them, moving forward, renewed and committed to the day.
The ground is soaked here, covered in pine needles today. We were spared the damage of wind and flood, our yard simply evidence of rain, constant torrential showers. 
I was thankful today for leafy, wind tousled and soaking wet ground. Wet, muddy yard scattered with pretty color; my feet were planted in a level spot and I glanced towards the damp, steely sky.
My cousin called this morning and we talked of life, of children, of God. We were getting carried away, consistent in our anguish, of things we can’t let go, things that frustrate us. We talked about the flood of our weekend and she shared her experience of Hurricane Katrina. This flood, Joaquin prompted storm, had both she and her husband reliving the trauma. I told her I’m very afraid of water and wonder if people will be found dead in their homes. She said “Most likely” and shared of homes ravaged by Katrina that were marked with an “X” to indicate a dead person inside.
We meandered back to the subject of our children then.
We understand why we’ve mothered the way we have; just don’t know why we keep going back there,
Trying to be the mother they’ve outgrown.
The mother that meets our need, not theirs.
We’re making progress though, beginning to think as God thinks of us, agreeing that the greatest desire of our lives has been to parent well, differently, unquestionably committed to our sons and daughters.
We have been and are good mothers. We know this.
Never occurred to me until just now, I thought to myself. “I’ve parented well, absolutely wholeheartedly. Let God lead them now. ”
She got quiet, thinking, I assumed then excitedly announced “There are bluebirds in my yard. The most beautiful bluebirds are just outside on my porch!”
“God is telling us to have hope”, I said. ” He’s telling us to let go now, we’ve done our part, he’s ready to take it from here.”
They’ve left our nests; well-loved and knowing they are loved.
There are new, bright places for them to grow, us too.
Loved well and loving well.
New places to grow
We take the winding roads on our Saturdays together, my daughter and I.
Stopping to notice leaf change.
Greens reaching up, folding inward, holding on, procrastinating the brittle change.
Golds, surrendered to season. Changing with changes.
Settled in scattered places under shelter of black, mangled ugly limbs strained from summer harvest.
Accepting change.
Surprised by the gift of surrendering our seasons.
Loving what has come, moving towards what we know is soon.
My daughter, a wife soon.
New seasons under God’s heaven
Everything
Turn, turn
There is a season.
There will be no planning ahead in this 31 day challenge. My words, if I remember them all, will be thoughts that show up and make sense in an all of sudden way.
For me, for now.
This morning, I added in the final page of my latest journal its dates, 6/19-10/30.
A thick journal filled with quite alot, heavy and pretty ecru colored pages marked with dailies. I have loved this book and its time.
I woke this morning, surprised I’d not heard the rain.
Made sense though, I slept through the normal noises of morning.
Coffee, lamplight, stack of books and me
My morning spot.
New journal in hand, the one quaintly adorned with a feather to remind, I begin my day.
Resigned and surrendered to what may come as I read the words of Matthew, their beckoning tone of rest. A new place for me, accepting and trusting, come what may or what will.
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30
I moved about lazily as I am prone to do, moving closer towards leaving my spot in the lamplight, my little morning corner.
Quiet house, slow and easy, my favorite way now.
Thinking of answered prayers, of prayers offered and of prayer meeting last night,
Ten or so of us, standing in hand holding circle to pray.
Each pray-er a different tone, a different grateful heart, a different sound of supplicate
I stopped then to remember more clearly as I glanced again, pausing at the prayer filled journal
A compilation of yearning, of growth, of challenge and surrender.
My mind, quiet then and more clearly causing me to wait, to let my thoughts making sense rest for a bit there.
To say:
“This morning, Lisa, here is where you are.”
” I have learned so much of myself, many things more clearly
all because
I have finally allowed God to teach me.”
We walked uphill that evening, Colt the big Brown dog and I. Like raising a toddler, it’s important to stick to routines like tennis ball toss before work and certain chew toy at bedtime. Walking, that day was a chore, pulling the leash and correction and command.
We rounded the curve and topped the hill then stopped suddenly.
At least twenty geese had gathered in the empty lot; pond on one side, subdivision the other. They lingered as if convened in strategic discussion as I waited, phone in hand anxious to capture the hysterics of geese taking flight and lab reacting to the chorus of winged flight and duck song. I untangled the leash, found camera on phone screen and steadied us both, dog and I for the flight show.
Then without chaos or startle, in orderly and quiet fashion, the pattern was complete and the geese ascended rhythmically upward and away. No crazy videos or shots of dog and bird, just one single image to keep. At first I missed it. Looking closely you can see it there between the pines, following pattern and plan. The one image of our walk interrupted by geese and God.
Flight
Today, I get to see my son. My daughter will see her little brother. We will acquaint and adjust knowing his pattern has been changed. We’ll talk of life and love without using the deep words or any words at all, knowing this time is a celebration of significant strength, grace and prayers heard.
We’ll meet up, convene for a while with my special beyond words cousin and then we’ll return home more convinced and thankful than before of God’s great and Sovereign navigation.
And we’ll thank for him for the better plan.
The one not seen until surrender, not known until pausing to look again.
O Lord , you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord . You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!
Psalms 139:1-6 NLT
http://bible.com/116/psa.139.1-6.NLT
Waiting
Linking up with http://jenniferdukeslee.com/come-and-see-tellhisstory-with-a-book-dvd-giveaway/
Thank you Jennifer!
The crepe myrtles were slow to bloom this summer.
Every morning, I’ve been slower to begin my day, to get to work. I pause in parked car, linger a few minutes, praying something like. “Okay, Lord this is where you’ve placed, help me to give it my all.”
And then, I’d wait a few seconds more as I gazed towards the wiry branches of crepe myrtle tree, scattered with verdant green leaves, the morning sunbeams creating pattern and contrast.
The quiet beauty of sunlight on leaf, causing me to rest, to trust.
The sameness of my days, the waiting for bloom or the turning of leaf
My prayers becoming more of listening than speaking
Of understanding more than fulfillment of desire
Of acceptance of the one thing left hanging or waiting to see, the thorn remaining, yet not harming.
Reminding me of need to seek, to befriend the giver of grace sufficient and abundant.
My prayers have become more of listening with patience and a calmer anticipation. Waiting prayerfully, not for fulfillment of request, but for the relationship of God’s gentle embrace.
Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I am trusting you. Psalm 143:3
The crepe myrtle that canopies my spot bloomed on Thursday. I stopped to look towards the sky, grabbed hold of a branch, bending it down to pick one for my desk. The beauty of waiting adorned my desk, little tissue paper type petals bunched together, a delicate reminder of God’s Sovereign and graceful hand.
Later, I walked, the habitual end to my day. Closer to sundown than usual because of a hard and unexpected phone call.
I walked and I prayed, at peace.
Then, I noticed God. A crescent moon and a pink sky.
God is in the details and the waiting. Don’t forget to notice.
I linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee.
http://jenniferdukeslee.com/keeping-the-faith-when-life-is-hard-tellhisstory/
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