Vulnerability

31 Days, Freely – Praise

Angels, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, freedom, grace, memoir, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I suppose I’m a quiet “praiser”. Not so much keep it to myself glory to God; but, not one to raise my hands during song or praise or prayer.

I tell you, it’s a beautiful thing to see, to be in the presence of.

Someone off in the distance or someone not distant at all whose eyes are closed in listening, worshipping, honoring mode and their hands won’t contain themselves…can’t hide their joy.

Oh, how I understand that joy.

I’m prone to soaking it all in, holding it close in my heart, my hands at my side, I may fold my hands like a little girl sayin’ the blessing and then I slowly open one hand and the other

And I might lift my palms toward heaven and give and receive.

Receive and then, give.

Praise.

Or mostly, I sit in the quiet that I find or am allowed and I write little notes to my Father, long or scribbled revelations of my growing, His grace, His protection.

Oh, how my pencil praises!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below.

My story, my song, praising in our own little ways all the day long.

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

The one who’s kept me close, kept me grounded while growing, pulled me from the dangerous edges when I’ve gotten too scarily close and kept me, keeps me, loves me still, keeps me still.

31 Days, Freely – Door

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, freedom, grace, memoir, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“No human wisdom or understanding or plan can stand against the Lord.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭21:30‬ ‭NLT‬‬

It would be a miracle if I remember clearly my thought that I thought this morning.

Just for a second, I envisioned myself outside an old door.

Sitting on the steps, I was waiting, not pacing, relaxing rather than ranting.

Things happen when we don’t push down doors, when we focus on what we know now instead of what we feel we can’t go any longer not knowing it all.

When we wait and don’t jump to defend or give permission to turn and run, accept the unopened door, we lean in closely and like a surprise you’re not supposed to know is coming.

You can smile, you can know, good is on the other side, there’s hope behind the door.

31 Days, Freely – Why

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, grace, Labradors, memoir, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

In the work I do, I’ve learned the significance of the “why”.

A quiet, learned and soft-spoken gentleman spoke words almost ten years ago that I’ve used as my guide.

“Why should I care?”, the question potential donors are counting on my application and conversations to have an acceptable and compelling reply.

Yesterday, I began my day with my bare feet in the wet grass, the sunshine through moving clouds making pretty shadows on the green.

I welcomed the day with a big sweet dog that fours ago was an uncontrollable crazy question of why.

I returned home last night to a kitchen that wasn’t quite clean enough for me and a bed waiting to be made straight and ready for my rest.

(These are things I can control, small things of mine.)

In twelve hours of day there were interruptions, thoughtful and purposeful conversations and heaviness, heavy long and long drawn exchanges over loss by suicide and why.

I listened and did my best to lead, direct and redirect, knowing there’s no agenda here, there’s no real set of ground rules, no conversational etiquette, a support group for those bereaved by suicide.

There is only me, the timekeeper and host who sits sort of head of the table and gives space for the twelve or so separate unending respective and at times, remorseful whys.

So, I thought of small things before bed, still am just now.

Small things like a goofy rescue dog as crazy as I’ve ever known and all he now knows and has settled down for us and settled a whole lot of stuff for us.

Love him, love us.

I thought of the small mercies and grander mercies I’ve known.

I thought of my cousin’s timely call she’d considered an interruption and how I assured her, oh no!

How she prayed, prompted me to pray.

To pray giving thanks for small things in light of the others’ large, troubling and grievous things of others.

There’s a sweet, sweet song I love, the artist not so famous.

It has a happy little rhythm, a proclamation of sorts. Her voice, dancing lightly the lyrics of how the mountains before us will become plains.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.

‭‭Zechariah‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The prophet Zechariah spoke these words, recorded for me, for us to know that greater things are still to come.

Not necessarily grander in terms of perfection from our perspective.

But, certainly grander. Grander, in light of your why. Grander, not so much grandeur or achievement or acclaim.

A grander view of God.

Oh, the God of small things.

Alli Rogers “Small Things”

Like tennis balls, wet grass and interruptions we at first are aggravated over and then allow.

And are reminded why, the small things that enlighten us, remind us, compel us to pray,

Saying, thanks. Yes, God, thanks.

Today, I’ll put figures and outcomes and measures together and I’ll combine knowledge with true stories as a way to describe the difference made by a home, a temporary place to transition, to believe in the possibility of better.

Work, life, God and why.

I don’t despise the days of small things.

The mountains before me are becoming gradual plains. I see it more clearly now and understand why I’m so much more certain.

God is with me, can be trusted, can make my big bad things bring small and sometimes even greater good.

Father, our God, let us not despise the day of small things.

Because of mercy, Amen

31 Days, Freely – Inspire

confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, freedom, grace, happy, heaven, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

If the sun where you rose today was even half the spectacle of mine.

Then, like me you’ve got cause to continue.

We were both in the presence of sublime.

There is joy on our horizons or for you, already, by this time.

God is with us.

On earth sometimes as it is, as it shall be for us.

In heaven.

Saying, notice now, ask of me what you’d like to see, trust and be attentive.

You will see.

Wait and see.

“And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain gladness and joy, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭35:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

31 Days, Freely – Hope

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, family, grace, happy, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Trust, Vulnerability

The air, obviously different this morning, I walked as quietly as possible thinking my aunt was still sleeping.

The back door was open wide and I saw her nowhere. The laundry room, slightly lit by the light marking the dryer’s cycle and a shifting noise was ever faint.

I decided it must be a load of towels. I turned to start the coffee, turned back and there she was. Smiling and nodding at me, her hair all messy and loose and her hands already working, determined and sure.

“Well, hey.” she said, “I’ve gotten behind on my laundry.”

She smiled and added “get you some coffee” and so, I did.

I didn’t tell her I’d been looking for her, that I’d gone out on the patio and thought I might find her watering or working already in her yard.

I didn’t tell her how the sweetest aroma I’ve ever known caused me to stand still, surveying the impatiens, the begonia, the ferns, turning and tilting and trying to find the mysterious source.

We sat with our coffee and fig newtons and we caught up quietly.

And then I asked her what the scent was that captured me, the one so enveloping.

She asked me if I’d noticed that all the blooms are reaching out wider, brighter, more fully. They know the season’s about to change, she informed.

Then she told me that it was the ginger lilies who sent the morning scent my way.

“Must’ve been the slight breeze this morning, it’ll bring ’em right up to the porch.”

I looked over the wide green carpet of her sloping yard, way past the little house my grandma lived before and thought I’d never have figured it out had she not told me, the massive lilies, so far in the swampy distance, bordering the woods.

“Oh, yeah.” she added as we walked down to see, “these lilies live long, they’re strong, they keep holding on.”

Then we plundered around and she showed us the elephant ears she’d discovered and she took us around back to the tiny purple blooms running wild and free.

I thought about her love, her faith, her quiet hope and I watched her as we shared a current stressful worry or two.

She nodded again, folded her hands to pray and with no words or a prayer at all, we heard.

“Prayer and patience…”

and hope now too, I know she always hopes.

I want a wide and full hope like hers in my changing seasons, all stored up for now, being so very confident there will always be more.

Hope endures.

31 Days, Freely -Belong

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, memoir, mercy, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

The Spring before my daddy died, he planted potatoes. The air was cool and my children watched, their bottoms plopped down on the dirt, my daughter with her arms wrapped around her baby brother.

If you asked my daddy if he was a farmer he’d have said no because he wasn’t a farmer and the potatoes weren’t a necessary crop.

If being a farmer depended upon breaking up the soil, walking out the spaces between the slices of potatoes planted, well, yes he was a farmer.

He belonged among the farmers.

I woke up this morning thinking about the harvest, about the keeping at it to reap what I sow.

My daddy was meticulous about how the potatoes were planted.

Just a small plot of land my cousin wasn’t planning to use, next to my house, so I got to watch him stand over it, waiting for what was happening underneath.

I read this morning about perseverance, about persistence.

Thinking about this season my friend is calling our harvest, I sensed a sure stirring, a need to grow.

I’d been distracted, disgruntled, pulled away and pitiful, decided I was never gonna reap from all that I had sown.

Jesus told a story about seeds and what we do with them and how we get disenchanted with the idea of us making something grow.

We don’t stay with it, we let our hopes go.

He told of people who only stick with it for awhile or people who’d just toss their seeds toward the not broken up soil as if to say, that’s it now God, make it grow!

“And the ones on the rock are those who, when they hear the word, receive it with joy. But these have no root; they believe for a while, and in time of testing fall away. And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature.”

‭‭Luke 8:13-14

I thought about my daddy and his potatoes, bothered that I couldn’t remember, did we go back to reap the harvest, dig up the little baby red potatoes? Did he get to see how well his last crop had grown, how abundant his harvest was that last year?

Jesus continues, explaining how we are made to flourish, lead others to flourishing.

“As for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭8:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The soil was always good where my daddy planted his garden. He had an honest and good heart, he was patient with his potatoes.

Daddy belonged among the farmers, I believe.

Maybe I, among the writers, the planters, the sowers and the patient, holding fast to be mature believers.

31 Days, Freely -Share

Abuse Survivor, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, kindness, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Unity, Vulnerability, writing

This morning I’ll make a little video, less than a minute or so of Michelle sharing the story of our shelter, Nurture Home.

She smiled when I described the time she’d done this before, the way she spoke so smoothly like honey and her pauses and the slight tilt as she spoke in a way sharing like a sweet, sweet song.

I love the storytelling part of my work, hands down my favorite part, I abhor the budget, can’t stand the asking for money.

The asking, the putting oneself out there always comes with the risk of rejection.

Last night, I ran risky past sundown because I left the gym without ever going in. Checking email, there it was, another no, another rejection in a string of three.

I cranked my car, turned down the radio and said ok, ok, adjust your sails, you’re not out here in this big sea all alone.

I drove back home and planted pansies for my grandma then ran real hard with good solid songs in my ear.

Running from the dark, I decided and posted on Instagram. A friend commented and I shared what was causing my darkness. Her reply was so sublime!

“Yet it was kind of you to share my trouble.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She understood, she was so very kind.

In this great big world, we all have a story and a story to tell. Today, it’s a work story I’ll tell; but, it’s my life story too.

God placed me in this position for a purpose.

I’m so glad he lets me help to change some stories and then to tell them, hear them, celebrate them too!

And later, I’ll let go of my ideas and ideals for my writing. I could stop altogether or I could continue more surrendered and less striving.

I could remember, let go and let God and like my mama said, be the passenger, let God drive the train.

Telling my story, His way, His time and place.

To God be the glory.

31 Days, Freely – Why

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, memoir, mercy, painting, Peace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Day 4 of 31 Days of Writing, trying to be brief and light and think about “my why”. I remembered why in an old hymn, just the chorus.

“Let others see Jesus in you…”

It’s simple but it’s hard, I’m either focused and feeling faithful or I teeter on my own inconsistency to come back around and hopeful again, once again.

What is my why? …a provoking question often used to motivate or continue something begun hopefully or associated with a personal goal.

Why do I write? This one I’ve been pondering lately. Does anyone really care, isn’t my life quite fine without it?

It’s not at all necessary, not as noticed as needed to go someplace grander, more visible, more esteemed.

Someone suggested I write fiction, perhaps people are sick of the sorrowful stories of women who’ve been restored, redeemed, renewed. I was perplexed, set off course and wondered why a made-up story instead of my truth?

Maybe I could, I’m not sure I should. Maybe I will; but, only after I’ve written on why, why I believe, why I have hope now when I was so very hopeless before.

Why you should too.

Have hope.

In the back of a worn little book of Psalms and Proverbs, pages missing and places with corners turned down, there’s a note among other notes:

If I wrote a book it would be a long letter explaining why I believe in Jesus, in His love and in His mercy.

There are countless versions bound into books with more significant stories than mine.

Still, my why is mine.

Why I pause to pray when I could easily turn and go the other way. My knees find peace and my soul finds rest in the personal and private moments I am intentional and I choose to pray.

Why I open my mind to learn from His word, finding new understanding in ancient recordings that develop slowly, requiring discipline and distraction-free commitment of time.

Like the verse about the yoke and rest, I can see it now. I couldn’t take the steps designed for me by God if I didn’t stay in a simple and steady rhythmic walk, I can’t follow God’s path on my own, can’t carry my stuff for too long.

Why I’ve come so very far because of His mercy, yet realize I’ve so much further to go and why I am blown away that He considers me worthy of the cross.

Thank you, thank you for the cross.

Why I am astounded that He prompts me still to pray and that answers come and each time I am moved, so very moved by His splendid and sweet mercy.

Why I think the most important thing about me if there’s anything at all are in the words to this song:

Your life’s a book before their eyes
They’re reading it through and through
Say does it point them to the skies
Do others see Jesus in you?

I understand others seeing Jesus in me differently now than before, more a gentle light causing need for others to come near, to know more, to see a difference in me, my art, my words, my everything.

31 Days, Freely – Believe

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, doubt, Faith, family, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, heaven, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

My mama never kept a journal or to my knowledge, wrote thoughts in a Bible.

So, I can’t say I “get that from my mama”.

She’d rather speak her truths to you, long conversations with time in between her phrases to let what she’d given you sink in. Look you in the eye or leave something with you and look away, walk away like that’s it, now I’m puttin’ a period there.

I believe every single thing she ever said.

Lots of times there was no acceptable reply, either she’d put me in my place or I had to just keep my mouth shut and let the sometimes unwelcome truth sink in.

She was resilient.

She believed in the possibility of everything working out for good despite so much wrong she endured.

She rarely quoted scripture, just paraphrased God’s truths in her own no holds barred way. Some would call it irreverent, her language was generous with cuss words.

I don’t think she aspired to write and I rarely recall a book in her lap, she’d rather be one with people, one with life.

She talked about books in a different way, telling me “turn the page, Lisa Anne.” when I kept mulling over some misdeed or misfortune.

She was quick to give her commentary on all that might be wrong or someone’s crazy choices or just mean motives.

She’d say “They’re not reading the right book or they’re not on the same page.”

I know she had a Bible. I know because it was mine and towards the end of her days I noticed it moved from the stack of old Southern Living magazines to the place in front of her where she’d fall asleep with the noise of Fox news.

I know she believed. I know she wanted us all, the four of us to always believe.

To pray, believing more often than beckoning or begging.

To smile, thinking how far we’ve all come and how far she and daddy got to see us go and grow.

Yesterday, I had an encounter with someone who has changed. A distant person who acknowledged her resistance towards relationship, she stopped by to give me a book.

She had a cold, I’d had to same one, I shared. She let me hug her and she hugged me back.

We walked out and I told her she’d reminded me of a new favorite word, “countenance”.

She was puzzled, said she had never heard it before and I told her I thought it might be biblical but that it’s such a beautiful word, a beautiful thing to see.

I explained that it means to me, your sweet soul is shining through, the change in expression showing so pretty on your face.

She thanked me twice, and more.

I thanked her for stopping by.

Thanking her and God now for reminding me of my mama.

Reminding me to choose believing.

Believing God is so very good.

“Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me. I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.””

‭‭John‬ ‭16:32-33‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And to “live life today”, and then tomorrow live and believe again as you “turn the page”.

My mama’s stubborn resilience and God’s unwavering and believable peace and grace, I’m believing in both today.

31 Days, Freely: Day One

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, love, memoir, mercy, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

img_0863

Day 1, Story

“even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.”

‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A year or so ago, my story was not the same. It was brave and descriptive and overall, the content served a purpose.

It told a few things readers might relate to, others unaware might be drawn to know more. It was about me and it was going to be about them.

Them, being the ones who brought me harm, stifled my self-confidence, my self-awareness, and my soul truly for a long time.

It would be about some who turned shielded eyes to say they’d not known, turned from my distress saying that must be where she wanted to go.

It was a hopeless story pretending to portray hope and may have caused hurt to a few.

Not necessarily an expose’, just would have thrown a lot of “shade” on a select more than few.

Today, I’m beginning 31 Days of writing. In October, along with the Five Minute Friday community, I’ll write using a prompt, today’s is “story”.

This is my story now.

img_0871

Healed and Hopeful

The story I’m choosing, the one that is hopeful and intentional and is led closely by my Father, God.

By my Savior, Jesus and the Spirit saying choose this new way.

  • I turned my eyes from the piece about the candidate and his high school buddies and what he really meant by what he wrote in the yearbook. I turned my attention away. Because last week the news and the media’s social conversation starters stirred up three nights of nightmares just as real as the days before. For a split second, I remembered clearly then turned my thoughts from those days, those nights.
  • I didn’t contribute to the hashtag conversation on why I didn’t report. Even after so many strong women were, it has no bearing on me now, the conversations about before.
  • I love my friend who suggested we all change our Facebook profile pic to blacked out squares. It is supposed to show men what the world would be like without women. Instead, I painted for three hours, a piece not up for sale. It occurred to me to black out my face on Facebook would mean darkness, fear, hiding. Decided I’d rather show God’s glory in me and the women I have around me. My profile pic is my painting.
  • I planned to write “lightly” 31 Days and changed my theme.  I’ll be writing “freely” knowing full well there is still slavery all around. Women who are hurting and angry and fired up and men who were who they were when they scoffed over the good old days with girls. They’re here and real. Their eyes may land here and I may never know their reaction to my choice to not join in. My choice that seems unpopular by the world’s take on this stirring up of women who will not stay silent. I choose silence because I know silence is God’s will for me staying well.

 

My story is freedom.

I’m sticking with it, my “freedom story”, the colors of my Bible are my Bible, of my life.

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The Colors of My Bible

Healed and hopeful because of knowledge, joy, mercy, patience, love, grace, and understanding. It’s too much a burden to go back and begin carrying my hurt around again, too heavy a yoke of sad slavery.

“For freedom, Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.”

‭‭Galatians‬ ‭5:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Father, if there are readers still reeling from trauma or reminded of trauma and feeling pulled back into fear, I pray you lead them to hope and that they find counseling specific to trauma recovery. I pray they know you are near and that persistence towards healing not the pursuit of patterns that cause us to stay focused on before is your desire. I pray you will remind them and me of the woman at the well, the woman who stood before men who were ready to cast stones. She watched them all drop to the ground as Jesus told her she was free, now go and remember this day no more. I pray you will remind us that fear is not from you, only hope. That those deserving of condemnation will surely be handled by You on our behalf. 

Because of mercy,

Amen

Stay tuned, or better yet, join in. Tomorrow, Day 2 is prompted by “afraid”