Vulnerability

Level Places of One

bravery, courage, Faith, grief, mercy, Prayer, rest, Stillness, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Few chances come anymore to feel as if others are one.

Last week we had to bring in more chairs. People I had not seen in a good while and some who I had spoken to by phone but never met all arrived around the same time.

One person I had never encountered walked in bravely.

Alone, she entered a room full of strangers and found a seat cornered between two others at the corner of the table.

One other arrived a little late and I was happy he made it, told one of the regulars he’ll most likely “saunter” in.

This one elderly man, a father grieving his daughter, seated close to me smiled as if he and I shared an inside joke and whispered that was a good description of him.

I consider us friends.

The sauntering and kind gentleman called later to comment on the meeting, concerned over some of the new people, wondering if he can be available to them.

I told him I appreciate the way he helps guide the discussion and the way he’s both truthful even if hard to hear, his words as well as compassion and concern.

He thanked me.

I told him that the diversity in the stories that night, the circumstances that led to suicides and the contributing factors as well as starkly contrasting personal struggles and family make ups were evident.

But, not evidenced in any of the faces of the listeners, the words offered in comfort, comparison or even explanations possible.

It’s level ground, it’s like a mercy table, one meeting I am a part of that sees past differences and looks at the one thing.

The one thing of suicide.

One of many things I do not fully understand.

One thing I do not know.

And so I’m one with them only in my presence, one only because I am there and I’m one because neither do I understand.

I’m one with this group I lead, this group of solemn yet, steady and supportive encouragers.

“Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The man who sauntered in closed in prayer after asking permission.

In the pause of his, I presume thinking, two ladies added their supplication. I considered being the third and all my heart could come up with was “Thank you, God for bringing these people to my life.”

I knew God would understand what I meant. I was afraid they would not.

I sat silent and I listened as the gentle man closed out his prayer for the others around the table.

Bringing the support group for those bereaved by suicide, “a club no one wants to be a member of” to a close.

Today, I’m linking up with others here, prompted by the word “One”.

One

If you or someone you know has experienced suicide loss, our group meets monthly. You can find other groups in your area by searching afsp.org.

Tomorrow is International Survivors Day. Across the country people will gather to talk, listen, be one with one another.

Info on this can be found here:

International Survivor Day

I am thankful God brought these people to me. They’ve grown me, taught me that silence is good, that I don’t always have to give my insight and that we are all one in God’s eyes, all of us humans down here.

Requirements and Resistance

bravery, confidence, Faith, fear, grace, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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Last Sunday, I said to myself, I miss the reverence of church.

I wasn’t looking for justification to just stay home.

Because the pieces and experiences I miss are not the popular way…are not really the way of our world now, the “world world” or it seems sometimes to me, the “Faith world”.

I’ve been conflicted, in a season of bending while longing to belong again.

 

There is a trend, my friend, a preacher’s daughter and I agreed.

People are not going to church.

We know it’s not good.

For us or for them.

This friend whose daddy has long passed, this friend who I rarely hear her call her daddy “daddy”, always calls him “Reverend Harper”.

I’m smiling, I see her reverence for him, her daddy and her Heavenly Father.

This morning I feel burdened because I feel so different.

Like thorns among the roses wet with rain, I’m particular in my picking of the right words to say.

I read a thread of replies on Twitter prompted by a young woman’s boasting of leaving the F***ing church of her childhood.

The church that held the memory of her favorite song back then, “They’ll know We are Christians by our Love”.

Several comments followed in agreement with her over her courage to leave the church that she felt never truly loved others, maybe encouraged judgment and hate.

I know that church, I’ve been there amongst the fear promoters and the stone throwers.

I rejected it too.

But, I’m burdened because I don’t think it’s good to use obscenities in the same sentences with God, or love for that matter.

To say so here feels bold, bold in that belief.

We can love boldly and be obedient boldly, I think this is the key.

I am bending, I am less resistant to other than what I’ve always known.

Requirements, though, I still need them.

Need them firmly spoken to me, answers when I ask for the way.

He led me here today.

“Joyful are people of integrity, who follow the instructions of the Lord. Joyful are those who obey his laws and search for him with all their hearts.

They do not compromise with evil, and they walk only in his paths.

You have charged us to keep your commandments carefully.

Oh, that my actions would consistently reflect your decrees!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:1-5‬ ‭NLT‬‬

 

I went to church last week.

I heard a gentle nudging saying, No, you need to go, you need to go for YOU.

And I thought on the way over about the loud music, how I missed the quiet days when the children never made a sound and when people weren’t sitting down with their latte cups

When you could hear the hushing sounds of mamas and the clink of the coins and dropping of dollars, tiny noises during the offertory hymn.

An atmosphere that made listening easy, pleasant, required little of me.

I thought of all of this and sat down next to my pretty girl who offered a vanilla latte and then, the lights, the loud welcome of the band, the crescendo.

Seconds before and as clear, clear as a bell, I thought.

What you resist most is what you need most.

And I was different from that moment, the way I took it in, accepted you might say.

I sang, I opened my heart and I sang, softly.

This season of un-belonging, of conflicted resistance, is changing, slowly shifting.

I still believe in requirements. I still need them to know and grow.

I’ll ask God to show me what I need, to point out my resistance, to enlarge my heart to be more willing and open, to grow.

Let go.

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“Open my eyes to see the wonderful truths in your instructions. I am only a foreigner in the land. Don’t hide your commands from me!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:18-19‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Linking up for FMF, prompted by the word “burden” which means a particularly heavy load. I went over the 5 minutes, it took longer than that to lighten my load!

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/11/08/fmf-link-up-burden/

Lord, help my words to honor you, not confuse others about You and help me to grow in this season, so that they will know You because of my love. Because of mercy, Amen

Grace and More

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, grace, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Grace is a lot of things.

It’s big rescue and big salvation and big last chance chances when we are caught before our falls.

It comes when we decide to think of ourselves less than He says we truly are.

It asks that we see others as Jesus sees them.

Like he sees us.

Like he saw the woman with the expensive oil who wasn’t showing off her efforts. It wasn’t her plan to defy the others.

She just wanted to love Jesus when all around Him was persecution, ridicule, doubt and the question of His intent and the day of deciding His death.

She was focused on worship and she poured out her worship freely.

In unashamed and unexpected worship, she gave what she could to Jesus.

She gave what she had.

When the people standing around ranted over her waste of what in their opinion could have been sold.

Jesus accepted her gift, her worship, her grace towards Him and He used it for all the others to know the power of giving, the power of humble and creative opportunities to give and receive grace.

Jesus told them all to leave her alone, that this would be her legacy, this choice she made to be bold, to give what she had and to trust God with the rest.

“And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in memory of her.””

‭‭Mark‬ ‭14:9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Now thousands of years later, this passage is in my Bible marked with red.

For me to really remember grace for all it is, not just a sweet and easy sounding word.

Help me to do what I can when I can, to allow interruptions, to ignore human reasoning of my ways. To acknowledge where you place me as places you will use me, to not hide away in my introvert ways.

To do what honors God, to simply pour out what I have and leave it there.

Help me to act accordingly as if I’m listening closely to hear my Father say.

Oh, to hear Him say to me, the same!

She hath done what she could.

Mark 14:8

Forgive me, Lord, when I make less than amazing your grace, when I am prone to hiding away and when I forget to walk in it, exhibit it, simplify it, this timeless and phenomenal gift, your grace. Because of your mercy, I pray in Jesus name, Amen

Jesus, I Believe

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Peace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Craziest thing ever!  My boot camp instructor told me I needed to get right!

Last night I was grouchy and told her so. I dragged myself to boot camp, told the trainer  I’m here and I know I’ll feel better afterward, so, yeah I’m here, that’s all.

If I moved I’d feel better, if I left the house I’d be less worried. My workout was intentional, I was not there for fun and games, I just wanted her to know.  Not in the mood for conversation, there to unravel my day, let my blood up its flow, let go the things needed to let go.

She responded with her usual firm motivationally cocky type retort, not allowing me to be pouty and then firmly added, “Get right with God!”

And it was odd because we don’t talk about Jesus at boot camp, she and the others if I’m honest only vaguely know of my faith, only vaguely know I believe.

So, I took it as important, her reply so important for me to hear, to adhere. I was tired of waiting for things to happen in my life; beginning to believe some things will never change and some breakthroughs have gone another direction, not coming through for me anymore.  Work stuff, work worries.

Before I even read from two different perspectives about Martha, I was wondering already this morning about how and whether I believe. Do I believe for others; but, not for me?

Like Martha, maybe,  the sister of Mary and of Lazarus. It occurs to me now,  she must’ve been the middle child, the one who kept an eye out for discord, the one who anticipated family drama, the one who got all concerned and withdrawn when there seemed to an issue. She was perpetually on the edge of coming unhinged.

But, she didn’t see it, I don’t believe. She saw herself as the keeper of control, she was one who believed in Jesus yet made it her role to be on guard against trouble, to be prepared when it came.

Jesus compared her to her sister, Mary.

He’d come to visit them and Martha was busy cleaning, preparing, ready to put on a show. She was frustrated when he noticed Mary. He told her to notice too. Mary sat in silence, she waited unworried, just wanted to be with Jesus, somehow knew nothing more was expected.  Her lack of activity, of anxiety, of frantic expectation, led Jesus to tell Martha, I’m sorry to tell you but her choice is “the better”.

I imagine Martha knew her patterns, like me, sporadic in her change, but determined to let them go.

Slowly breaking the habit of questioning everything and keeping in control.

Some time passed after Jesus sat with them in their home and they beckoned him to return, this time to perform a miracle, their brother was dead.

They believed through Jesus he could live.

Do you believe this? Jesus    John 11:26

When Martha settled into the unlikelihood her brother would be revived, she answered Jesus’ question with a yes that was sort of a but or an even though…I guess, still.

I imagine her demeanor was calm, her resignation confirming her fear that became acceptance. He would be healed and he would live, her brother would see heaven.

Belief is sometimes just acceptance and with acceptance, there is always a hint of sullen. Acceptance isn’t usually accompanied by joy;  just an okay but I really hoped it could be better.  It’s a settling for less than we believed and I believe it’s because of what we believe about ourselves.

I wonder if Martha remembered the time she spent sweeping up the kitchen instead of sitting beside her sister and Jesus. If, because of her cleaning compulsions and her less than enthusiastic worship, she had no right to believe in miracles.

 Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.  But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.”  John 11:21-22

Jesus had other ideas.

Ideas to reveal His Father’s glory.  He kept no record of the ways she viewed herself as wrong.

I do this sometimes, sell myself short on God’s glory and greatness.  I decide in comparison to others, I’m not quite so worthy.  Like Martha, I believe in good for others, not so much for me.

And I surely believe in heaven but sometimes not so much at all, do I believe in now.

Intention, felt wrong when I wrote it, like a word that didn’t belong with the others: rest and attentiveness.

But, the day is almost done and intention has finished the sentence, is the conclusion to this morning’s story.

Believing with the intention of trusting.

Now I see.  Now I’m right in my thinking.

 Jesus responded, “Didn’t I tell you that you would see God’s glory if you believe?”  John 11: 40 NLT

 

Right with you…God.

 Father, thank you for hearing me.   John 11:41 NLT

Jesus, I believe.

 

 

 

 

Have This Hope

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, grace, memoir, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

Sometimes, I’ll pray,

Jesus, be my editor.

I want to be observant of Him, my life and my art and words, purveyors of Him.

I want to cause others to consider my present hope in light of my previous trauma.

No day is the same as any single day before. Our days might be framed and arranged with similarities, coffee, and quiet and an awareness of a bird waking up outside your window, but it’s never just the same.

Our days, never the same, the exact time the birds begin to sing, their type and from whence they have flown.

The words I write, the way I consider my schedule, I’m slow and achy or optimistic or something in the middle.

I repeated a tough time yesterday; but, only in my retelling of its story.

Very clear, the memory I shared to express a time of a prayer, a plea.

It was pleasant to tell of an unpleasant time, as if an accidental reminder to myself, you got through that, you are strong.

All is well.

Just the reframing of a recollection we’d never aim to repeat.

All of our regrets, our remorse, and resentment over wrongs done us or by us.

We need only repeat them as a reference, a reference of how different we are, how decidedly committed to reframing our trials in light of knowing God saw us then and sees us now.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29:11‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Pressing on, not repeating old stories, only reading the chapters of our lives, rewritten, edited by God.

Prompted to write on word “repeat”, remembering times I’ve been brought through, times I don’t ever have to repeat but will recall them in ways to carry on.

Read other thoughts on “repeat” here:  http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/11/01/fmf-link-up-repeat/

31 Days, Freely – Close

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Life and God are in constant intersection.

Places you find yourself standing other than you planned and in locations you’ve become accustomed to, you are close to God, when you take stock of forgetting and finding again, what is there.

You meet a little lady by mistake who is tiny like your grandma, neat as a pin like her and she smiles and forgives you for ringing her doorbell, going to the wrong address, she tells you she wishes you’d stop back by.

And you think, now if that’s not God, I have no idea what it is.

To see your grandma when you needed her kind of gentle assurance, yes, that was God!

Being close to God, being where He wants me to be and doing what He wants me to do.

With my being mama, wife, executive, writer, painter, friend and follower.

These are things I will know clearly and eventually, adjustments like shadows of color to accentuate an angel’s waist or taking away a showy word to be simple, succinct.

It is work. It’s okay, though. God is in it.

Never an anxious seeking, always a contented watching unexpectedly yet ever hopeful wait.

I heard the geese and thought “Here they come.”, the acknowledgment of my mama, her words when she heard them.

I slowed my steps as the V shape turned away and then smiled and watched as they turned back my way.

It was a small thing, to see geese fly over and remember my mama.

Remember God’s pattern.

I forget and I forge ahead making mental and pencil note of things to try, challenges I should continue and I take some off the list, cross through their name, thick leaded takeaway, giving myself permission to let that one go.

To keep taking small, deliberate steps and to know that when I jump in to pressuring myself to join in, to hurry up and finish or to feel afraid I might not catch up,

That’s anxiety talking, that’s fear and I feel it in the place that the counselor noticed my trauma liked to dwell.

Noticing now, let that go,

That will not serve you well.

Be still.

You are close now, close to what God wants you to know.

He is close.

We are His work.

“The works of his hands are faithful and just; all his precepts are trustworthy; they are established forever and ever, to be performed with faithfulness and uprightness.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭111:7-8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Closing out 31 Days with some sermon notes from myself:

Write bravely.

Write from small sweet experiences.

Try not to veer back to pitiful.

Recognize when you do.

Write what you’ve been avoiding.

Follow through.

Notice God’s answers in your day.

Pay attention, you’ll know clearly, what to say, what to paint, what to write and

Where to go.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

31 Days, Freely – Voice

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Yesterday, I listened differently. One voice I heard was as smooth as the cream in my coffee and deliberate in its pauses. She waited between words. I got the impression that every syllable was special.

I joked and told her she should give training, her voice was so pleasant to hear. She explained it was just Southern and I answered well, I’m just as southern as you.

We were helping someone, one voice on the phone and the two of us trying to listen in light of emergent need. I wanted to ask hard questions, scold missteps in my concern for her condition.

“But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.”

‭‭James‬ ‭3:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Instead, I watched and waited and tried to line my parts up in the conversation with what she might receive as compassion not concern.

Her voice was quiet and it wavered. It was sure and then it was scared. It was willing and then it wished it had not spoken.

I listened as my colleague offered coffee and then calmly led her to talk about her boys, then at just the right moment as I turned to tell her, she voiced her agreement with me, assuring the young mother.

You can get back to the place of okay.

We saw her smile, softly repeat our belief using her voice and repeat it again, believing, I believe,

She will get there again,

Back to

The place of okay.

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31 Days, Freely – Together

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, Salvation, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

Despite the change in temperature and season, the roses my husband pruned way back are again deciding to grow.

One by one, little buds have burst into blooms. Before you know it and if the frost is late, we’ll have an abundance of magenta blocking the back door.

I’ve got an independent streak, resistant to joining in, being corralled together with people who are only a tiny bit like me, at least I believe so.

And I don’t like to join in if I think people will call me a follower or a fan girl, or for show.

I prefer to sit back, stay in my place and let Lisa be Lisa.

That’s not always what God desires. I mean, if you know me I know you’ll most likely not imagine me shouting, jumping for joy.

Shoot! I very rarely even laugh out loud. I should correct that, I guess.

I’m so quiet at home, my husband approaches me to say, “you’re really into that, let me ask you something and then I’ll go away…”

I should probably do something about this too.

Yesterday, we went to church together, to a new church on the day they were doing something new, moving to their new space.

We’re not sure where we’re gonna land. We love church, know church is something we need; but, we (I, really and his sweet agreement with me) don’t know yet where we should be.

I’m afraid this is a growing trend,

I’m praying. We are praying, we will end up in the church we should be. Sooner than later, I believe.

Yesterday, the pastor gave a teaching message, how to tell your story with gentleness and respect, explaining why you have hope in God.

Then he suggested share using the hashtag #gotestify

It was late in the day that I decided I would. I’m anti-FaceTime. I just don’t think I’m quite that fancy or special and my selfies are very few.

But, I found a photo I took of my self sitting on the Isle of Palms shore. I hadn’t planned on beach sitting, the day and day before had just about pushed the limit on stress. But, all had been good. All was good. I saw it in my face.

So, I used this little selfie for my message, my message of me before the mercy of Jesus, how I found it, and how it is changing and changed me.

Together, with others, I testified and shared:

The reason for my hope: I was raised to be afraid of all my wrong and potential of wrong and the hell that my life would surely bring. I was forced to “evangelize” with gospel tracts while walking ever perfect and straight lines…then because I knew I’d never keep it all between the lines, I ventured off without boundaries to places way too hard to tell. Then, I had my babies and we later found a little church and an elderly preacher who showed up on his own…to help me in my distress. He was answering His calling, God had already been stirring my soul and he told me about mercy and helped me pray. The road has had its moments, my walk of faith sometimes faltering. But, God has never failed, never failed me yet. So, now I know and believe it more everyday, the opposite of the harmful contradiction that I was taught as a little girl. Mercy triumphs over judgment. And it is this mercy that is the reason for my hope. #gotestify #oldselfie #idontfacetime #writebravely #healedandhopeful #rewritingmybook

Some people liked it, one appreciated my transparency.

Many it may have stirred curiosity and some might now avoid me or think I was too much of me.

I believe I should be brave; but so much more than being brave, I believe I should be grateful and I believe more than ever God is making me able, able to tell my story that will point to Him.

Lord , help me be consistent. Unsure of all the places this matters, so many, my attitude, my prayer life, my humility and my perseverance.

My hope is in His mercy, knowing more surely than ever it is forever there.

31 Days, Freely – Song

Angels, contentment, Faith, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

waking thought today, October 28th…

“Jesus, lover of my soul”.

From some other worldly type place the thought came, these words I repeated in thought, two, three, a few or several times, uncertain of them being verse of a Psalm or a song.

The sun is pretty just now, the way it shadows my stack of morning table stuff.

I google the phrase and discover it is a song, an old hymn I must’ve flipped past in the thin pages, seeking backdrops for angels.

I open my journal to read what I wrote earlier, before church or anything at all.

Realizing my faith is a persistent faith, more persistent than resistant and that little things are happening, being evidenced in my soul.

Gradually sticking, this relationship of grace.

There could be no other explanation for waking up to the words of a song.

I must be getting closer to His spirit. It can be the only explanation – every morning I’m thinking of God and I’m not yet or quite yet awake.

Waking up with words like Jesus being the lover of my soul.

What a beautiful song!

What a beautiful

song.

31 Days, Freely – Whole

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, family, freedom, Good Friday, grace, Homeless, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I kept working because I wanted to finish what I’d begun, I suppose.

Only partially complete, it would have maybe worried me all day as to what the ending might be, I needed to finish.

I needed to treasure the whole thing, the pleasant dream that blessed me with blissful sleep past seven.

Oh, joy, I’ve slept til almost nine!

I dreamt I was living in my grandma’s house and it was all mine, the whole place.

It was standing tall and mine for the taking, for the living.

The room across the tiny hall from my grandma’s room, it was exactly the same as before.

The hall, like a bridge we were warned not to cross, just a little hollow place between, its occupants, the phone on the wall and the gas heater caused crowded passing through to the little bathroom congregating.

I was there again and I could hear the long clangy echo of a ring and my grandma answering to talk to maybe my mama, my aunt or one of her sisters.

She’d pull the long curly cord around the corner so she could see. She’d talk a long time sometimes.

But, it was mine in my dream, the whole place, last night. The place not standing now was there for me.

So, I set my mind on fixing up my granddaddy’s room, the one that seemed such a secret, his “Chester” drawers all piled with loose coins, papers and cigars, I started and I cleared and cleaned and made it fresh, different than before, a place to lie down and rest, inviting and bright.

A place I’d been afraid to pass through, it was mine to make new.

To make whole.