Vulnerability

Thus Far

Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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We lived in a cute apartment in a sort of upscale community, my baby brother and I.  Our apartment was above a retired couple.

Their comings and goings always together, I’d glance down at them from the kitchen window, he gently helping her from the car and carrying one or two bags of groceries.

Occasionally,he looked up, his expression a contrast in wisdom and frustration.

Yet, they never complained of our late hours, our trash piling up or our completely haphazard life.

Both of us single, both of us sowing wild and hapless oats.

Every Sunday, they went to church. Sharply dressed and contentedly methodical were their steps back home.

On one particular evening, we ended up close enough for words. I asked the gentleman, “How can I know God’s will for me?”

Surprised by what he must have seen as a lost and careless young woman, he just stood there. “I’m sorry if we are loud up there sometimes.” I said, ashamed I’d asked the question.

Still, no words as we stood together in the shade of stairwell. Do I wait, do I leave him be?  Should I not have invited his sermon? Will he rightly point out my sins?

He answered with a book. I’d love to say it lives on my shelf; unfortunately, the patterns of my life were not abruptly changed that day.

But, a seed planted, oh my goodness and I’m so glad God allowed me time enough for it to grow.

There are many who will not believe there are big portions of my life not well-lived.

Who may think I talk of redemption and wonder how on earth do I really think I needed to be redeemed.

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Last night, a text came. I was painting and cleaning my art room. I’d walked the dog in the mist and fog, praying hard and quietly demanding as I walked.

The old heavy and annoying albatross of anxiety had begun to linger above my head.

It’s such a dull and cumbersome feeling, the one that cooks up chaos, confusion and confoundedness in the heart and mind.

I decided, after listing all my anxious taking of responsibility for plans gone awry to God, to head home, be quiet and paint. “I’ll paint. I’ll listen to Alison Krauss and I’ll just paint.”

So, I’m painting in silence because the air has cleared, my mind unfurled and open.

My painting, not furious, but an easy comfort.

My prayer was heard, my heart was made free.

I needed to answer her text; a young woman, mother of precious girls and one little boy is worried and has been crying for days, she said.

I’d given her a reference for a job. She didn’t know. She desperately needs one.

“I’ll pray for you, that a breakthrough will be soon.” I said.  She answered with something like you are so great, I really appreciate it. I wish I had your faith.

I told her that the things I say to her are the things I say to myself quite regularly.

I’m not who I was, still not all I should be. Closer every time I surrender, a thankful trusting heart at rest.

Told her I get the blues too. I have to pray, get quiet and trust.

I hope she knows it’s true, that the mess I am is not nearly as much a mess as before.

That, the will of God is for her a good and settled mind; but,  we have to seek it.

That’s what he said back then twenty plus years or so, the kind and patient gentleman who gave me the book.

“You have to seek God’s will and keep seeking it in the quiet place of prayer. ”

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This morning, I’m reading scripture from II Samuel. A devotional about setting goals for fruitful living, talks about spending time alone with God.

The passage is called “David’s Prayer of Gratitude”. It was written after he was the least likely to be chosen, after he defeated a giant with a stone and before he strayed haphazardly distracted again by lusts of life.

“Then King David went in and sat before the LORD and prayed, “Who am I, O Sovereign LORD, and what is my family, that you have brought me this far?”
‭‭2 Samuel 7:18

He’s the good shepherd; he kept his shepherd boy who he chose to be a king.

He keeps us too, reminds us where he found us and where he’d like to help us go.

Where we long to stay, reminded of our thus far.

 

 

 

Accepting Sky

Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

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Let it be.

I hurried home to get a walk in.

On the way, alone with time, I thought ahead to what might or might not be.

I redirected my thoughts,  chastised myself, tried to account for all my wasted worries.

Attempted to measure the moments, curious of the amount, wasted on anxious calculation of possible or not.

Wondering, ever wondering.
I looked past the messes left for me…the throw pillows askew, the labrador has been sleeping on my sofa again.

Bundled up and walked real fast and focused in the wind.

Almost dark, I cut through the field.

Turned the corner and settled my mind.
The evening sky saying, “acceptance”.

So glad to notice you, God.

i appreciate your sky.

Towards Grace

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On the first day of new, I wrote a prayer and called it “Winter”, knowing that what I write, I might retain.

I found it beautiful then. It was descriptive and true.

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Grace found

Pausing to look it over, gray lines and loops on thin white paper, I pondered the seven days since I’d already begun to fear.

Welcome, Winter.

May your arrival bring new things.

May I be unafraid of your truth

and of mine. 

May I hold fast to a promise uttered for others and for me,

a breakthrough is coming,  it’s about to be time. 

This morning I sat in a dim space.  The morning faded by moist and thick fog led me to linger. I read and wrote, three or four lines at most.  The quiet of the morning, too much of a calm nothingness for me to move.

I listened and heard a dove in the distance. Its coo was quiet, then more clear, then quiet again. The notes of its song danced like black squiggly shapes on sheets of music.

I listened and thought of grace.

Grace, manifested, making itself evident, the only other sound the tick of the clock on kitchen wall.

The cooing of the bird becoming conversation, for me, I decide.

I waited. It continued.

It quietens, so I move, unfolding the quilt from my bare feet.

I think of seeking the sound, the sight of grace.

For months, I walked almost daily with lens pointed towards the sky. Random shots of clouds that called me to notice. The sky, like dove song, I’m certain was always for me.

Grace, manifested. Grace, rediscovered.

Had never moved, not been removed nor withdrawn, I’d just stopped looking. Maybe I’d become comfortable in the apathy of apprehensive unknown.

Sometimes we do these little things like “quiet time” and journaling and they’re nothing short of cliched habit, practicing a trendy social sharing, searching for a word to declare will carry us through the day…like wearing our badges of honor to mark our fading faith.

Then, we see grace.

We feel it. We hear it because it was not of our making, we got silent and still enough to see God.

I’m looking again. I’m noticing again. It’s a quiet and private practice.

Earlier today, I was captivated by a presentation. Watch and listen:

Are you listening?

A video created by a photographer, the intent to capture the emotion of 2016. It’s hard to watch. Hard not to watch. The voice of the narrator is reminiscent of the sweetest teacher a Southern girl may have ever known. It’s a voice that is somber in its serious tone, broken in its cadence.

If voices were visible emotion, her’s would be the drawn face of sorrowful acceptance.

It was hard to watch, such an accurate commentary of our time, our distress.

Hard to watch, yet, impossible not to take notice.

I watched and still, I thought of grace.

I thought of  Job and his refusal to give up on God, his dismay, his defeat and his holding out and holding on to see grace again when they all told him it was not to be found.

 No more grace for you, curse what you’ve decided to count on for good and accept that your doubts have come true.  His wife, his friends, the bodies of his children cried out.    Job 2:9

I thought of the sky that I turned to notice once the fog had cleared.

The open spot where the blue came in.

That’s the place that reminded me of my Winter prayer

and eventually, again, of grace.

Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. Psalm 86:6

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/want-give-2017-even-starts/

Little much

Children, courage, family, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
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corn flakes, banana and pecan

Yesterday, we all had dinner together.

Beef brisket on little buns loaded with jack cheese and buns made shiny by warm butter

Fingerling potatoes coated in olive oil and Parmesan cheese, crispy under the broiler

A cole slaw fancied up with creamy bleu cheese, crushed pecans and cranberries

Decadent macaroni and cheese, thick, soft and warm

My attempt at a little cafe’ worthy finale’, custard and Nutella blended gently over heat, cooled and then covered in melted marshmallow, not the star of the show,

still sweetly delicious.

Gifts exchanged late Christmas night. Laughter and languishing. Sprawled out in the den.

Late night led to late waking.

Back to the kitchen, I go for the simple.

Remembering my grandma’s house when we all had breakfast from the box with the big rooster.

And how I loved it when the honey colored flakes floated in a pool of white.

I’d dip into the bowl with little fingers, pick just one and bring it my mouth, letting it rest softly on my tongue.

Then I’d turn the shallow bowl up and drink down the milk that tasted like candy

My feet swinging loosely over the edge of my grandma’s chairs up close to the big table.

My cousins all around me, the day after  Christmas at the old house in the country.

Little is much, I know this to be true, know its peace.

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Trees and Home

courage, grace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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I thought yesterday, what I’d do if I lived in the city where they say trees are going for hundreds of dollars this year.

I passed by the little lot on the corner that always has trees and wondered if I’d choose to do without if a tree for Christmas cost a couple hundred.

I would, I thought…I hoped, do without.

The church where I’ve always bought my tree didn’t sell them this year.  I got my tiny tree at the grocery store, both of my children with me;  so excited, I plopped my “baby tree” in the back of my car on that Saturday we spent together.

It was $29.  I found an old basket and sat it on my favorite old blue-bird blue chair, made a star by tying two ornaments together with twine and it’s just sweet and simple.

I love it.

I pulled another tree from the attic; I can’t lie, it’s the top section of an old artificial tree and I’ve smushed it down into an old brass planter. It wobbled at first; but, I put the base into an old mason jar.  Walla! Steady.

It’s so pretty.

I add gold ribbon and grapevine garland and I have another Christmas tree.

Yesterday, driving past the Christmas tree lot and thinking about the big city trees, I had just a few minutes for errands before going to the shelter.

The Sunday School class at the big historic church invited us as guests to their Christmas party, myself and two women, one homeless, the other formerly homeless.

We’d been asked to speak, to tell their stories of Nurture Home. Me, to tell my story of details, budgets, numbers, mission and outcome.

Theirs, how it was to be homeless and how it is for them now.

Thirty or so distinguished and mannerly faces looking towards them as they told strangers of being homeless, expected to die, trapped in abuse and yet, determined to know life differently.

They made a point of mentioning me, “Miss Lisa”,  as one who pushed them, one who listened, one who they are grateful for.

They answered questions about determination, they said they were strong because they chose to be strong and because God has better for them and they trust Him, believe it this time.

They talked about God in personal ways and I’d like to say I noticed the faces of others in the room.

I didn’t.

I was listening to eloquent stories with details I didn’t know before and I was overwhelmed by poise and confident expressions detailing their being without a safe place called home.

On life support because of alcohol and choosing not to return to the street, instead finding shelter.  Afraid to leave and afraid to stay…afraid of most everything, in fear of being killed, she left with her daughter and came to us, to a shelter.

And now, having dinner in the Methodist parlor of a church.

I lie quietly late that night.  I’d dropped her off at the shelter, unloading donations.  I left them there,  both women, the one who now has a house, a car and job wanted to linger for a little bit. The house warm and full, she wanted to know them all.

I lie quietly that night. I’d turned into our drive, my husband had the porch light on, the red of berries on front door wreath shining against pretty green. The “baby tree” was lit, the house warm, the dogs waiting for me.

Quiet that night, my husband asked, “What’s on your mind? ”  I answered, “Nothing, I’m praying.”

“Okay.”he said.

I drifted off to sleep after prayers of gratitude for things I was reminded of having and with figuring out getting a tree, a Christmas tree for the women, the children, at the shelter.

There needs to be a tree for Christmas in the place they call home.

I’ll take one tomorrow; big, not baby.

 

.

 

 

 

Beautiful not Finished

Children, Faith, grace, Motherhood, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
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Unfinished

The first time I put my feet on the little path to the place where love lives now, I thought, “I’d fix these bricks. I’d clean up these flower beds and I’d add some pine straw as a border.”

I walked in the empty house back then, high ceilings and wide open space, functional and sparse.  I moved through the hall and tried with all my heart; but, couldn’t sense heart or home. I thought, “I’d put a rocker there or I might make this a mudroom.”

Today, in my daughter’s country kitchen, I baked spaghetti, thick cheesy pasta merged with a rich sauce as I looked out wide uncurtained window, a little rooster on the ledge. The clear glass, the length of wide sink,impossible not to gaze towards a misty gray sky flecked with blackbirds.

My daughter napped on the sofa under her worn soft blanket. I sat with journal on lap,  glancing again, again towards the narrow window of the front porch and the one past the foyer, in her dining room. It perfectly frames what seems to be miles of trees and peach fields. This window unveiled too, thin gauzy fabric opened to the side.

The leaves on the trees in front were shiny wet, like oil painted canvas, still the cardinal and thrush were easy to find as they danced upwards and round and round.

The brick path greeted me again this morning. The welcome, an unfinished pattern, still incomplete.

I smile when I see the Christmas tree, the pillow on porch swing. I love the changes love has made, my daughter’s “touch” on the big house, their home for now. Even more beautiful will be the one that will come, in time and with plans prepared and waiting.

He has made everything beautiful in His time.

Ecclesiastes 3:11

 

Desires of Heart

Children, courage, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
Satisfied

Satisfied

Sketches in the margins of my Bible moved onto canvas with thick, layered color, white flowing fabric from empire waists.

The head may tilt or the arms rest, tucked with fingers laced and resting in small of back.

Waiting and satisfied.

Content in the waiting.

I’d always hoped to be an artist.

I’d always hoped I might capture emotion on canvas. I’m selling art and longing to know the place my angels call home.

I have a new favorite, this one with humble and patient expression, hair  bobbed with bangs…this one, looking towards the place where faith waits, sure of hope in time.

I pray Lord, and I thank you that I’m satisfied with me, finally.

I pray, Lord for the two desires you know tonight,the ones I prayed when I prayed, believing… the weighty desires of my heart.

They matter much, the desires of my quiet heart.

Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give the desires of your heart.  Psalm 37:4

 

Sure Enough

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

 

Sure Enough

tiny tree ornaments, babies, angels and feathers

This morning, I considered the idea of assurance and prayed,

“Dear Lord,  I want to live assured.”

I thought how it may be to move through my day with a countenance of being sure.

How it might be to wear assurance as my jacket, to walk with the cadence of happy rhythmic step, and to speak in a way so sure I’d radiate belief, my cheeks ‘ablush from the knowledge of enough.

My countenance, sure and assured.

I looked towards the memories on my wall, the tiny angel with her book and a jelly jar full of feathers.

The beauty of it all, so much more than enough, I sit quietly in a settled place with sunsine stripes on the wall.

Yet, none of this is significant or of measurable value.

I could sell angel paintings, their shapes thick with paint and poised with grace and hope. I could hear of the way they spoke to the buyer.  I could publish the book God told me is my “treasure”, the one I’ve been brave enough to title.  I could do these things and more and I’d be nothing more than accomplished without the assurance of a good, true and faithful God.

I’d rather be known by my faith. I’d rather be content in such a way I’d intrigue others to know how, why and could I?

My countenance, one of sure enough assurance and my expression so true, all will understand,

She means it when she says… it’s not me, but, God and it’s grace I don’t deserve but, I’m sure of.

 

 

Truth and Figs

courage, grace, Prayer, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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I looked down at my boots and thought, “Someone’s gonna think I’m wearing leggings to church.” My jeans tucked into my boots underneath a sweater covering belly and a long cardigan; it occurred to me that my jeans are going to be mistaken for leggings.

For months I’ve been noticing the thickness, that heavy layer around my waist. I decide it’s age, at half way past the in between of 5-0 and 6-0, it must be age. Or, I thought, it’s stress or hormones or maybe something digestive.

I imagined all kinds of reasons and thought of pulling out the thick red reference book; or worse Web MD. In any event, I woke up miserable about my weight for the umpteenth day in a row with blah, defeatist mood.

Then it happened, an awakening thanks to the mirror I turned to notice. I’ll not dare to describe to you what I saw. I’d hate to conjure up the image in your mind, the side view going from laundry room to bedroom having gotten panties from the dryer…

I stopped, stunned into attention and out of the blue as thoughts sometimes pounce and say, “Listen up!”  I accepted what I already knew.

There are truths we know of ourselves; yet, we hold out for something or someone begging to differ.  We invite platitudes and giggly little assurances of just how okay we are, all the while we are not at all okay. We know what we know to be truth.

Shaken to the surface, the truth of my health and habits came to light yesterday.

My weight gain happened because of figs and cheese and chocolate and wine. It happened because there can never be enough sharp cheddar in the scrambled eggs and the bacon has to be crisp, fig preserves to contrast the salty when spread on buttered toast.

Evenings disengaged all cozy after a warm shower are always better accompanied by a glass of red or a glass of white, creamy milk…fig newtons or PB&J.  Chocolate loves a balance of a few salty Ritzs and some peanut butter or some popcorn. Sometimes, breakfast at night with raisin bran, bananas and milk makes sense, feels right.

Last month, we Ladies on a Mission all shared anonymous prayer requests. We told each other what we longed to be free of. I shared my struggles with my weight, telling about my college years of deprivation and denial. I told them how I had been trying to lose fifteen pounds for two ding-dang years…and I need that prayer to be answered!!!

The friend I prayed for and am still praying for had a burden much more meaningful, more lingering and troubling. Still, I requested prayer for being fat for too long.

I was jolted into reality yesterday morning, a glimpse of butt and a looking down over thighs squeezed into “jeggings” that were meant to be jeans.

The prayer group met last night. I told them, “If one of you got my request, then I believe you must have been praying for me because I haven’t lost a pound; but, I finally know why!”

I looked to the left, the right, the semi-circle and I met the eyes of one who said: “I’m not saying a word.”  But, I knew it was her.

I knew because she’s told me the truth before even if I didn’t want to hear it. She’s told me the truth about my voice, my insecurities and she’s been bluntly perceptive about my need.

I had good food last night and healthy food today with lots of water in between.  It used to be all or nothing or sneaky and secretive. So, sneaky like fig newtons for the sake of the fig, and peanut butter slathered on apples for the sake of a fruit was feeling a bit like nothing at all, countin’ my baby peas and surviving on lettuce.

I knew the truth, just needed to hear it in my own time.

Truth and Figs, good things I know.

 

 

Martha, Glorious

courage, grace, Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability
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More than I thought I’d yearn to know

 

It was an odd sensation, wishing I could see the face they saw.

Every one of us, tired, empty and needing to be filled but, not knowing with what or how.

We met for a Bible study, led by me because the volunteer had other things.

Four women and I.

I followed the guide, the chapter on “What Jesus Did” and we all scribbled notes in boxes for responses.

What do you think?  How would you answer?

I give the answers, they agree and then we turn to John 11.

I break out into story, song, and enthusiastic all sorts of reading, followed by hands moving in elaboration.

I’m Martha, I told them.

Martha who gave up, ran out searching, frantic, anxious, trying to get everything just so.

While Mary sits, their brother has died.

Jesus is his friend; but, he didn’t get there in time.  Martha told him so.

I’m reading scripture and we’re talking about believing.

I read about Jesus’s tears and we talk about it.

Jesus wept.

We wondered why he cried.  We all, me and four women who live in a shelter I make possible,  talked about why Jesus cried.

I can hardly take this in.

Then we read, me pausing to say “Can’t you just see this?”  and let me tell you about the time I felt like this.

A time I just could not see through and I looked up, looked out across open and empty sky and I prayed,

“Lord, show me your glory.”

Because I needed to see what I had decided was impossible to be.

And, sometimes, I told them I pray this again, adding

Please…

“Lord, please show me your glory.”

and I’m wishing now as I remember tonight,

That I could see my face the way their faces saw me.

When I got excited about why I love Martha more than Mary.

And I led us off the Bible study bullet list plan and we all veered off, captivated by glory.

Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” John 11:40