He sat so that I might see
The sunbeams that were
Soon to be sunset.
We’d walked a sauntering stroll
Purposefully so and the same prayer,
A thought unspoken.
Peace for them, peace surround them
Evidently, all around and real.
As our neighbor lies passing.
The thought I keep thinking.
He paused and I attempted new prayer
But, nothing came.
Peace, I asked again.
Peace.
And the Lab sat until I said “Come on.”
We continued on.
Continued on.
I had good intentions. I made a list and circled each of the 3 things I felt I should do.
I thought I might try.
One, a request that I write on “freedom”, another, the theme is education, I had and still have an idea.
A third, a lofty hope to be selected as the author of a devotion for women.
I’m not super social, I feel safest all alone.
But, I got beckoned from my bubble today, my little protected place where things are not at all perfect; but, they are good and at least, I know what is my own.
And I realized just now that I couldn’t begin to be expressive in a coherent and communicative way. It would be chore, clarity lacking, shallow sharing.
Nor should I try.
Not now.
So, I decide to back burner the writing goals, some of them commitments and to pray before sleep instead.
To pray for one who held my hand, in a final sort of goodbye way surrounded by her family.
And another not seen in a long time friend who asked me to pray just now and I replied, “I will.”
Changed by others, humbled by my trivial troubles, I will pray.
Pray for others.
I will.
Now.
Later, my list I’ll resume.
Praying for others
and me.
Prayer is the exercise of drawing on the grace of God. — Oswald Chambers
I came real close to calling her back.
Thought about it more than once, a non-writer, blogger, random probably, reader of my words.
I couldn’t remember the way she said what she said.
I told her it meant so very much and now I can’t even remember how, but
we went from work related conversation to her making mention of my instagram, my words that morning
And other mornings.
“Something about it…” she said.
“Something about your words, always, always for women”
2 days later, I’m settled here, settled and satisfied that sometimes some things I say matter for someone other than me.
Just now I’ve had a texting convo with my girl and before that a friend and before that this one who made my day when she told me I likely had no idea how much my words mean to so many women.
Like a prayer, I’m inclined to say
Amen.
Prompted by the FMF ladies…the word, WOMAN
I couldn’t have captured them if I tried.
But, I certainly would if I could and so I’m always looking, ever aware of my pursuit.
I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Psalm 27:13 ESV
The one that met me as I began or the one that made its presence known as I drove intent on my part in making things better for someone.
Nor the ones all clustered together to then scatter separately in happy lilting flutters.
I smiled watching as my feet pounded the gravelly trail
Running as a release, and knowing that there’s no need to pause as if I’d cause their pausing. They were all around, teasingly entreating my notice.
Birds are just that way.
Momentarily glimpses of God, in my periphery or suddenly right in front.
And yet, not even as I rounded the curve and the straight place, again, there they were the same small clique, waiting to have me see.
And remember them and the ones before.
The first one, blue.
The second, red and the group, too distant to know, their wings mottled grey and brown.
I couldn’t have captured their appearance if I tried, if I’d flicked my wrist and angled the tiny lens just so and simultaneously tapped the button for a photo.
Even then, I couldn’t have fully captured it, their message to me saying you are seen, you are known, continue singing.
Continue to fly, to walk, to run towards God’s goodness.
Something happens when I step out to walk, to run when I make it a mandate for me.
An unraveling, solitude, unconcern over others around and ears muted to outsiders and filling up with a strong song.
Maybe the getting closer to the sky or unconfined behind desks and screens or maybe it’s the physicality of the unhindered release of mind, of limbs lethargic.
Out amongst the things of God, sounds, movements, and makings, I might otherwise consider only insignificant landscape.
The flight of birds, their singing and skirting about in my presence, it matters to me.
Assures me I matter to God. More than unexpected acclaim or surprising occurrence of good.
The birds remind me I’m small in His presence and yet He knows.
So, I’ll continue changed by the birds I see, I’ll be unchanged by the oddness of it that others might perceive.
I’ll continue joyously at ease every time I see one; the bluebird quick and rare in my presence, the red one, daily and often for me, and the obscure ones gathered together in their little community of engagement.
For with you is the fountain of life; in your light do we see light. – Psalm 36:9 ESV
Each of them for my seeing, elusive in their leading me to carry on, carry on towards the days of goodness in this land of the living.
The birds, the open sky, the invitation to pursue, to wait for all that is good all the good in the light I must go to see, to seek under great big skies, bordered by bird and tree, I must open my eyes to see, open them to heaven!
The unraveling of my anxious thoughts, making space for Him.
Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord! Psalm 27:4
I stepped out into the day, the Labrador scrounging for pieces of his food I’d spilled from the container not tightly closed.
Quiet except for the sound of his bowl lightly shifting against the floor as he dines. He glances my way, lets me be me. I believe he understands, the tennis ball rests in far corner for now.
My feet are in the soft moist grass, shifting with my steps, resting places for the view.
The sun is making greener the ground, illuminating the morning.
Purple blooms are leaning down, they’ve flourished more than before, the rain, the sun, the soil.
Must have been just right this time.
Fragile blooms, antique in appearance, the Rose of Sharon, has grown as high as the windows and will continue through September, up, up, upward towards the sky.
I’m alone in our morning yard, unconcerned over the back door open too long in August or eyes from houses on other sides of fence, pondering me as I ponder.
Grace has brought me here. Grace, the committing of my morning and my days to God.
For quite a while, I’ve been this way.
Quietly accepting come what may every morning and praying by God’s grace it goes long, longer every day into my days.
Grace, living according to grace thus far.
…that we may receive and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:16
You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness, – Psalm 30:11
New thing, “by and by” moments of celebrations…anniversaries.
noun
1.the date on which an event took place in a previous year
Writing on the prompt “Anniversary”, I found no words on love or marriage or recall of loss or season or celebration marked.
I’ve not a clue what was going on last year on this day.
I’m more concerned with momentous occasions, moments of my life that show me I should continue.
I do life best lately, “momentarily”.
Like taking a moment to prepare breakfast for my Friday morning desk, I am doing more things for my better than I have ever done before.
Just fry up some bacon, scramble some eggs, grab an avocado from the pretty bowl and then arrange it all on the scalloped edge paper plate, flimsy but fancy.
Sit with music filling the aloneness of your office and be happy, be happy in just the moment, the moment of your choosing “right healthy” food.
Remembering when you saw the church sign that kept telling you at the moment your running late car sped past, “Don’t go back to the place God delivered you from.”
The words that amounted to a moment only, but over time, so timely.
Now, the same route and the third day so far, same sort of moment; yet, different.
The church sign has changed.
“Stay close to God and you will never be the same.”
Moment by moment, every one sort of a joyous recall of choices well chosen, close as possible staying close to God.
Momentary living, my Happy Way of Life.
Surrounding myself with wisdom, wisdom like a quote push pinned to my wall, takes less than a moment to read, to remember, to believe.
I’m taking it all in, storing them up, counting them as joy rather than sorrow.
Putting them all together in a book I’d call “mercy stories”.
You can’t imagine the number of them.
Deciding to call myself “writer and artist”, after all.
Sort of a momentous decision.
For me.
Rambling on and on I know, and way more than five minutes and not much at all about “Anniversary”.
It can be hard to follow my conversation, I know.
Sentence or comma, moment or hour, every second, I’m making ’em count now.
Maybe I’ll look back and recall though, the day I changed my ways and decided to live “momentarily”, a momentous anniversary it shall be.
Someone requested I pray.
I answered, “I will.”
Dr. Charles Stanley
Again, the request that I pray and again, later, the same.
I suggested in a way it seemed I wished they’d stop asking me.
I told them to pray, to read the Psalms and to pray.
As if compassion had me worn and weary, as if my well was near to dry and I feared I might run out of refreshing affirmation or advice.
“Compassion is a sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress, together with the desire to alleviate it”, according to Merriam Webster.
But much like the physician healing themselves, I realized what it means, “self-compassion”, and why I need to pray.
I opened the Psalms last night and I prayed intermittently with fitful sleep.
Intentional, I prayed Psalms 143:8.
Trusting God, I would wake and begin again.
Jesus, the Savior of the world slipped away alone to pray. Like a surgeon with nimble hands or an artist without inspiration, our capacity is limited if we are not nourishing ourselves, our souls and minds.
I can’t give my best, prayers or otherwise to others if I’m not sufficiently satisfied in my own soul.
Writing, painting, talking, loving or anything really, at all.
…you want your readers’ eye-motes to go click! with recognition as they begin to understand…but, you probably won’t be able to present a character that recognizable if you do not first have self-compassion. Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
I find it awesomely profound that both Anne Lamott and Dr. Charles Stanley are instilling in me the same guiding truth, that I must be self-compassionate.
Before I can give, I must accept.
Dr. Charles Stanley
So, I’ve been praying this morning and later, I may paint and I may write.
I have a list distractions have kept me from.
I’m home, alone intentionally and my time I’ve asked to be perfectly ordered by God.
For reading, writing, learning
Praying. Because, I need to.
For others, for me.
I’ll find time and place.
And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, – Matthew 14:23
Linking up with Mary Geisen and other storytellers here: Tell His Story
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. – 1 Corinthians 13:7
The greatest thing happened yesterday, more special than anyone will understand. I saw myself surrounded by love and I am hesitant to say; but, I am thinking it may be the unlocking of so much more, the freedom to change my perspective, to alter my imaginary ideas of what I was incapable of remembering.
That’s me there. The bobbed bangs and even back then I was unable to open my eyes for the shot. That’s me surrounded by love in the August of ’63 when I turned 3.
I’ve just read two separate perspectives on love after waking up with the realization that “we should just love”.
I can’t say how sleep unearthed this necessary proclamation.
It may have been the weekend with family, the coming together of us from different places and paths that had taken us all spread out from one another are bringing us back together.
In need of the other’s love.
In need of connecting again as if we were small and couldn’t help but be gathered together cousins, sisters, uncles, aunts, and dogs.
This morning I read of how disillusioned Jesus may have been perceived to be.
How he saw others as redeemable and that was all he saw. He saw them as returners to His Father’s love and He saw them without judgment of the places their hands, hearts, and feet had been before they came or returned from wandering.
I’d like to say I love this way. That I don’t pretend that my concerns over others is not judgment, that it is only my hoping for them to be better.
I’d love to know I could love, and that my love wouldn’t be questioned.
That I’d not have ideas about others that humbled me when they were conclusion jumping wrong.
That I’d love the way family loves, bound together although disjointed by life.
That I’d love without judgment, that my love would be childlike and innocent in acceptance and mature and intentional in the reality of its necessity and giving of grace.
I’d love to love like Jesus.
I believe I shall love better, knowing, after all, I have been loved, was and am.
The little girl in the pointy hat, the stretchy string pinching our necks as we all gathered around the table with our mamas, daddies, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, grandfathers and a bird dog patiently waiting for a scrap.
Children, now adults, all found our way despite stumbling, falling, faltering along the way.
One, Stephanie, not with us, missed so much more than time can attempt to measure. Others, babies then, too tiny for the table and some yet to be conceived.
When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be!
We all were loved, I’m so sorry to have ever doubted.
For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. – John 1:16
Love endured, endures still.
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love. – 1 Corinthians 13:11-13
Yesterday I told a writer, a published author who is good, funny and honest, the thing I’d been thinking all week.
Andra Watkins is strong and unafraid and kind and I can’t wait to read her new book!
I’ve met her and read two of her books already. This one is a little different and she wrote that it had been an idea long ago, finally coming to fruition despite serious medical interruptions and detours.
I finally commented on her FB page.
I told her how seeing her accomplishment made me feel. Told her I was jealous. I told her I was happy for her. I told her I came up with a new word about my feelings. I had decided I was “jAPPY”.
She replied that she knew I would, that I would one day write a book.
I smiled.
Running last night, yes, me running, I decided to remember that I will only not write if it is not for me from God to write.
In that case, it will be okay.
I have written a whole lot already.
Yes.
I have a crazy real fear that my time will run out. Partly due to the lack of time because of my career and the mental exhaustion it causes, I have only tiny chunks to devote to writing. (This is my reality. This is not whining and not in need of encouraging or worthy comments along the lines of…if it mattered you’d make time.)
This is accepting that space and time will clear in time and if not, well, that change is no longer completely up to me.
The happening or not, I am a smaller part than I wanted to be.
Running towards something, pressing a little farther each time and committing to knowing this is my part, my new dedication, just keeping going.
I begin my day every day with the Jabez prayer. The one that is an imploring of God to make good things happen and to keep them coming, please.
Everyday, I realized today, I am praying for more when I already have so much, God has granted a multitude of what I have asked.
…and that your hand might be with me, and that you would keep me from harm so that it might not bring me pain!” And God granted what he asked. – 1 Chronicles 4:10
I’m a woman raised with very little and along the way I have been given so much, had opportunity to give from all I’ve been given.
The book I thought I might write no longer is the book I believe may come.
The prior was a lament, the future will perhaps only recall the past from which I’ve come; but, will be so much more heavy on hope.
God is moving me from all the past.
God is keeping me from my pain.
It is a necessary blessing.
My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. – Lamentations 3:20-23
The song in my ears while running reminding me that His mercy will not end.
I tapped replay.
His mercy never ends. His plan for me will not be thwarted even if I stumble and get bummed out by my past so hard to forget or agonizing my far away and unattainable to me future.
A mercy song:
As Sure As the Sun will rise and chase away the night, His mercy will not end. Ellie Holcomb
His mercy will not end.
His love for me will not be removed.
I will continue in rhythm with His timing, His mercy, 
His idea for my book.
I saw the suggested “thinking point”, the prompt and I thought of the chosen twelve along with the one different, Jesus, 13 an odd number, odd man out you might say.
The shaker up of things, the confronter of issues needing confronting, the consistent comforter, healer, setting himself to the side rather than on a mighty place of notice.
12, he chose to be “fishers of men”, observers of sorrow, to travel by foot, by boat, by His side.
Peter, Andrew, Matthew (Levi), John (brother of James) Phillip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Judas, James, Thaddeus, James (the younger), Simon
12 who were the imperfect yet willing.
12 who had no idea what they were in for.
12 who were not untainted by personal flaws and failures.
12 who simply said yes.
12 maybe initially intrigued by the phenomenon of this healer, this man on a mission, this bold and powerful presence.
12 who agreed to follow and followed Him to the cross where everything changed for the 13th.
12 who saw His sacrifice for them, for us and if not changed by being with him before, knew they could surely be changed for good then.
12, occasional misfits, uncertain followers and a doubter along with a dissenter who chose death because of his disbelief.
Like us, like me.
Jesus said, come alongside me.
I will show you what God has planned.
Just follow, keep following me.
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. – John 3:16-17
I’m linking up with others on the prompt of “13” for Five Minute Friday. Better than most times, I wrote freely for about 5 minutes.
http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/07/26/fmf-link-up-thirteen/
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