Vulnerability

Trust and Amen

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Begin, get lost along the

way. 

Come back. 

Find, then abandon, lose again,  yourself

in the place of believing in your word, your color, your marks, layered color and

or authentic story on page or canvas and

be glad that you’re glad no matter. 

Sit back, step back. 

Yes, this is me. 

Alleluia, Amen. 

Trust and Amen. 

Here’s something you may not know. 

I went to college on art scholarship but, I was not ready, got a little lost…30 plus years later, I am painting and it is joy. 

I missed my studio aka Heather’s old room…after a weekend away and no commissions to be fulfilled, so I painted this afternoon and into evening. 

This piece is a 16×20 mixed media on canvas…graphite, watercolor, pastel, acrylic with just a tiny hint of hymn peeking through…the words, Trust and Amen. 
Send a message if you’d like to purchase.

Sparks and Moon

Children, courage, family, grace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the 

moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.

I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.

Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last. 

A late, long day,  change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night. 

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead. 

The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark, 

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

Bright and  red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddle on the street as the car ahead eases on. 

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled. 

My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.

I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we  floated  down the road.

Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch. 

Going home for Christmas. 

I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.

Sparks flying up and the 

Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so. 

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Closer to Strong Walking

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/

 

Book Review and Giveaway- Choosing Real by Bekah Jane Pogue

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

I opened this book quite convinced there’d be nothing relatable for me. 

I did what women do, pictured Bekah Jane’s pretty little life in her pretty little sunny home surrounded by happy boys and handsome husband, and decided I think I’m too old, too much a contrasted life to relate. 

Perhaps, jealousy veiled the door. After all, her name’s on a book and mine is not. 

I began Choosing Real on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday means church to me, choir, if on a set day it means leading Missions. 

Sunday feels like work sometimes and most days I’d rather just rest.

Bekah Jane understands. Like me, she has spent many hours of her days working, planning, showing her efforts to herself and God. Barely into the first few pages, my pencil is making pretty little gray asterisks already. 

You, my friend, you don’t have to work so hard. You don’t have to strive to perform, because God is already in it.  

I understand, Bekah. I’m sure we’re not the only ones, little girls wanting to believe Jesus loved us…loves us, really. 

Less than a page or two over, here’s this gem, this rock solid truth refined and precious jewelry. 

How could I follow a Jesus I didn’t have a real relationship with other than what I did for Him?  

Yes, this is the beginning of understanding, of the wisdom finally seen clearly through another. 

Finally, I am  understanding surrender through this book. Surrender is not a strapped down performance based response because of self-condemnation over never enough or not enough consistently! 

Breakthrough here.

Yes. That truth came to me in these pages. Bekah is an event planner and so she’s all about arranging, inviting, I imagine beautiful and welcoming occasions. 

Surrender is simply saying, I’ll come along, Jesus to the events you have planned for me. 

I know that you have some very special occasions you’d like me to fully attend, to be present, to enjoy, to accept as opportunities to dine with you while dining with others at a table large with glorious grace and graces to share.

I struggle to convey how big was this epiphany, this new view of surrender so I’ll use another’s clarity from the book,  Bob Goff. 

Every day God invites us on the same kind of adventure. It’s not a trip where He sends us a rigid itinerary; He simply invites us. 

God asks us what it is He’s made us to love, what it is that captures our attention, what feeds that deep indescribable need of our souls to experience the richness of the world He made. And then, leaning over us whispers, ‘Let’s do that together’.

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I’d love to create a little list of all the places this book touched my heart.  

Bekah speaks of grief over the loss of her father in a way so real I simply wish we could meet so I could run across the room without reservation and hug her so, so tightly and say “Me too.”

Grief leveled her. Grief changed her. I understand. She and I are one in this ache  that comes round and round. 

Friends, I’ve only barely skimmed the surface of this book and it’s importance for us all. 

Last week, I attended a fancy meeting. I couldn’t wait to leave, worried over being a guest, not a member and shunned over wearing the wrong shoes or being less notable a person than others.

I sat in my car and said. “I’d rather be real.” and the sun warmed my face as I looked towards blueness of sky. I paused there in the parking lot, okay with belonging to quiet over club. 

I paused, content in being more real me than ever, a place of peace and acceptance. Happy to be real, not rich. 

Later, I painted and I will again today. This ministry born of sketching me in margins, an invitation to abandoned joy it has become. 

Work, before. Over 39 years ago, I longed, ached, tried and failed to be an artist. Now, I simply long to paint, to write, to bravely create from my heart. 

Choosing Real ends with an invitation to proclaim,  a beckoning to consider believing I matter, an exercise in embracing God’s long ago promise. 

You matter. 

I have a copy of this book I’m anxious to pass on. I know it will end up where it belongs because God placed me here on this chilly Saturday morning to share my heart and its significance with you. 

Leave a comment and at random, I’ll choose someone to send a copy, wishing I could send to all! 

Choose real. Accept God’s invitation to surrender to life when our plan gets messy or even grief and chaos ridden. 

Reach out, take His hand and remember, surrender is not selfish defeat or dismay…it’s saying “Yes” to believing Jesus has some amazing and “really real”  things, amazing days he awaits our acceptance of invitation. 

Acquaint yourself with the wisdom and heart of Bekah here: http://www.bekahpogue.com/

*Thank you to Stephanie Alton at the Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc. for allowing me to review this book and for providing a book for the giveaway this month. 

Purpose and Possibility

courage, Faith, Trust, Vulnerability

I woke excited to know the possibility. 

One of many, I am sure; still, it could be me. I wrote a brave story and followed the instructions for a literary competition. 

Added writing the essay that initially was soft and spoke of childhood to the list in the margin of my calendar called “to do”. 

I’ll know in a few days. I’ll know to be afraid or relieved,  emotionally giddy over being chosen or a bit scared of being seen and hoping to hide behind my grandma like a little girl afraid. 

Either way, there’s a purpose for the outcome. I know this to be true because I asked it to be so. 

Prayed, Lord I am taking this next step you have “purposed” me for and I will see you all along the journey. 

Purposeful, everything is. 

Opened the cabinet for a cup and see it there, little black mug with letters painted white to remind…plans and purpose, not for harm.

For good.  Time will reveal what good will come. May be simply the knowledge of taking the brave next step to make the next one more brave. 

Or maybe it will as my friend promised, the purpose of the shedding light on dark places hidden so I am free, more free than I have been. 

A beautiful and sweet, purposeful free. 

Linking up here: http://katemotaung.com/five-minute-friday/

Monday Monday

Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_5578

I thought my Monday medicine was most sublime, the concoction to level out the day of lots of talk, lots of stuff, lots of appearance for the sake of appearance.

So, yeah,

I made from scratch tomato basil soup, then decided, I’d love a bubbled up cheesy toast on the side.

So, thought,

how perfect is the unraveling of my Monday and I was at peace with tomato soup in my peace cup on an ordinary night.

Then, I discovered this in my following feed:

you just keep on using me until you use me up

And I smiled.

And realized, oh, yes, I needed a smile, a little groovy kinda shimmy smile!

Thanks Ray and thanks, David for topping off my Monday, Monday!

Tender Mercy

courage, Faith, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_5527

I must have held a bit too tightly, anxious in my grasping.

I saw it there, moved quickly, lifted my hand and met its movement.

Held it in my hand.

I clutched with all my heart, my mighty mind and anxious searching.

And longer this time, it rested there, before its wings in a flutter of struggle convinced my opening of hand

to release again to the heavens,

mercy, stopped by again…

tender mercy.

I dreamt in bright color, red.

Held mercy in my hand, a red bird, fearless and for me momentarily; yet, less fleetingly than before.

I touched its velvet belly.  My palm cushioned its smooth chest and my fingers  settled its fitful feathers.

It rested longer this time, just enough for me to know,

tender mercy, I know you, yes.

Morning, Splendid Day

Faith, praise, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
img_5414

Good day, unleashed

I woke to sounds of nothing. Certain it’s 3:00 a.m. but, I must not look to see. Lie still, adjust quietly, pray, wander your mind, turn this way or that.

This night time thing that I refuse to accept, this pain that is mean and creepy and wakes me up, an angry spasm.

Try this, try that.

What on earth is a rotator cuff, anyway? I’m a stubborn woman. Do not like meds. Do not favor surgery. I will fix this off kilter place in my arm. I know I can.

Try not doing this, not doing that.

Yesterday was splendid, I laid there and thought.

The weather, the walk, the determined abandonment to art that’d been promised.

Colt, unleashed,  ran ahead and looked back to be sure of my follow.

Two grown geese courting  mid pond, took their time swimming away, no worries, we’ll take flight if need be.

Big happy dog swam towards them and they flirted just slightly ahead. He came when I called. His hip, knocked out of place by car, before we found him having been discarded by another,

mIght hold him back, might fling out of socket, a crazy thing.

I called him back, worried he might get too far, refusing to accept he was not as able as he hoped.

Yesterday was splendid.

He turned from the geese, close to the other side and with slowly ummph-like movements, he emerged and stood with me on the bank.

He shook, looked back, shook again and we climbed the big hill back towards the road.

Keeping him close, we strolled and paused, strolled and paused. I patted his head and said. “It’s a good day, Colt” two, three, maybe four times. Oddly happy over my talking to him and knowing he heard, I said it again.

Thinking, how beautiful a day, to be taught by a dog and to be noticed by another.

Someone surprised me and said, “You’re a very good writer.” and I replied “Thank you so very much.” hoping they knew their significance in my newly and decidedly splendid day.

I woke today, had been waiting.

I heard, finally, the morning. Dark still but, the birds beginning to sing.

Made my way for ibuprofen, caffeine and quiet meeting  with birds and Bible.

“It’s a good day.”  I thought.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Lamentations 3 : 22 – 23

 

Mindfilledness

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

I have a friend who is a therapist, yoga instructor and a quite beautiful singer. Her voice is smooth, her tone steady and open to my turning.

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He redeems my soul in safety from the battle I wage. Psalm 55:18

She talks about trauma like David thought of Goliath.

As if to say, “I know you’re lurking, come at me, I’m stronger than you know.”

Oh, the mind filled messes we all hide away, stuff under the bed or way, way back in the dark corner of our dusty attic minds…

Thinking, “I know you’re still there; but, I have no need for you whatsoever…stay up there, away, I know you; but, have no need to bring you out.”

Trauma and memory, fine ’til they can’t rest and start to dance together, way past midnight in our dreams.

Last night, I watched a movie. Rare for me because I despise the “F word” and I have no desire for sex that looks like proud display of nastiness and shame.

The movie, “Woman in Gold” and the actor a strong and determinedly beautiful woman scarred by the siege of Hitler.

The one scene, the one that stirred up my thoughts, she is afraid to go back and remembers fleeing before being taken prisoner.

She melts down. I saw it in her eyes, Helen Mirren portraying trauma splendidly well.

She faced it. It was so very debilitating,  just for a few seconds.

She knew her giant.

Would not concede.

I dreamt in color of scary things last night, of being held captive, of being harmed.

It was clear and real. It was a true story, true of my story.

Still, I woke and said to myself.

You know the reason for the dream. You know the games your mind plays either you let it become filled with the messes or you pause to be mindful of its seed.

I thought of my friend as I practiced mindfulness and rose to begin my day unscarred by the night and its thoughts.

Birds singing to celebrate the early bloom of forsythia and azalea, of hope, truth and quiet confidence.

Feathers found reminding of grace singing over me.

Filling my mind with things to grab hold to, store up, win battles with.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who is changing the way I see “happy”.

 

Tell His Story