Vulnerability

Sweet Remembering

Faith, family, grace, grief, Prayer, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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It was late, almost dark.

The clouds were enormously ominous, a bunch of ’em all gathered up together and I could hear my mama saying,

“Looks like there might be a cloud makin’ up over there.”

The geese were holding a meeting in the grassy field. I brought the leash closer and said quietly, “Good boy.”

We hadn’t meant to scare them, we were just strolling lazily, Colt and I.

But, they congregated and flew up and away together with loud flaps and a chorus of harmonious fly alway song.

I was glad to see them because I heard my mama say,

“There they go.”

I remembered my morning prayer written in my journal, “Lord, send a little reminder today, that all is well and help me to see it clearly.”

And I heard my mama saying now, “It’ll all be fine.”

Lightning in the distance, I turn uphill towards home, cutting short our walk.

I’m content…under heaven.

Geese, storm clouds, and memories of mama.

Thank you, God.

That which was bitter to endure

may be sweet to remember.

a proverb

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as we think about loved ones and heaven.

if you fear death, are puzzled by heaven, or wonder if you’ll live forever – #tellhisstory

Letting Be

Faith, family, grace, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

imageShe called me “sweetie” when I walked in and naturally I pondered whether that was a sweet thing or condescending like lost puppy talk.

It was a kind welcome, “sweetie” must be her word, I decided, it seemed so natural.

Earlier that morning, someone else called me “Honey”. Same thing, just a thing she called people, I supposed.

The usual instructor not there and the only spot available between two men, one my friend’s husband, uninterested in small talk and the other, in his 70’s and really focused on his balance.

He practiced a while, one knee bent, and the opposite leg teetering, like a limb bent by heavy fruit, I feared it might snap.

I thought he might tumble and I knew the reaction would be kind, still, I hoped he didn’t for his sake.

I considered leaving; but, the music was so good, acoustic mellowed out guitar versions of ” Let it Be”, “Imagine” and some softened up Tom Petty “Mary Jane”.

I decided instead to relax and breathe in my little strip of space, a little closet-like cocoon.

The poses drew the tensions up and away from my shoulders. I accomplished for the first time, “tree poses” with my eyes set firm and my arms up high above my shoulders.

“Child’s pose”,  I realized is the same as falling on my face in prayer. The instructor told us, “The forehead on the ground is the place where letting go takes place.”

“Oh”…I thought…I know this already.

Ending with “Shavasana”, flat on thin mat, I feel thinner now.

The hard floor underneath me and a weighted bag on my belly, I close my eyes and breathe.

Then, interrupted by the most gentle touch, like a silver spoon dropping a dollop of heavy cream into a warm cup, the instructor gently massages essential oil into the spot above my nose and on my temples.

I notice the scent, contemplate it and decide if it were a color it would be the tint of pale blue sky and I pray,

speaking in a way a bit blunt.

Words spill from my mind like the rat a tat of ammunition and then

they slow with a quiet confirmation.

Gratitude finds its way into my thoughts as warm tears make little puddles around my eyes.

I rise slowly, open my eyes and let the tears evaporate.

Then, listen in farewell “mountain pose” upwards stretching high and then hands at my heart, as the instructor wishes us peace before adding “Namaste”.

I reply “Namaste” and my heart opened, whisper a silent

“Selah”

and an

“Amen.”

 

A Handful of Quiet

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

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A room filled with women, we arrived and found our table. Five women can live at our homeless shelter at any given time. We’re always full, their stories always different.

One’s had a really tough stretch of days and she rode with me.

I told her on the way over about the way I sometimes write the word “trust” on my palm. I open my hand to look at it and remember or sometimes close my fingers in towards my palm, letting my thumb lie against the place I know the word rests.

She smiled and I drove, running late as usual.

When she realized we were going to the country club for dinner, she said,”Oh, we’re going to be at the country club?!”

I answered, “Yes.” and a added a little “whoop whoop hand in the air shoulder shake”

It’s my signature move. My daughter has built a whole “Snap” story around me.

She added, laughing out loud, ” Raise the roof, Miss  Lisa!”

And then, her eyes glossy, “I laughed. This is the first time I’ve laughed this week.”

We all sat together. The women who live in our shelter, myself and another employee.

When grace was said, I opened my hands on my lap and listened.

Softly and unexpectedly,she put her hand in mine and I covered our hands together as we prayed.

The warmth of her hand was indescribable.

The thought of it still now as warm.

I spoke about our program, remembering little of what I said except “Their stories become my story. It’s only the grace of God that has kept me from the same hardship.” Because I always say that, always.

Some of the women in the fancy dining room listened, really understood. Most likely only some were brave enough to try and understand if I’m honest.

Let’s be honest, many were thinking…Well, I’d never get myself in such a mess like that.

The room was filled with wealthy women and towards the end of the night, one in particular clearly shunned me.

I felt it.

I have experience with this feeling.

I woke up remembering it and almost let it linger; but, remembered more clearly her beautiful hand in mine.

How could I minimize the beauty of the one hand by sulking over the other?

Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and chasing after the wind. Ecclesiastes 4:5

So, I prayed, “Lord thank you that my life has been less than perfect. That I’ve not had the perfect dress for every function. Lord, thank you that you’ve placed me in places that I get to hold the hands of others. Thank you, Lord that she reached for my hand, knowing I’d reach back. Thank you for reminding me to stop chasing the approval of others.

Linking up for Five Minute Friday although, I always feel certain I go over. I’m not so great rule follower at all. 🙂

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Morning Unfolds and Evening Nods

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

I walked outside, barefoot. This morning, the grass wet and cooler than just a few days ago, it caught me by surprise.

I lightened my steps, tippy-toeing, the dogs wondering, “what’s the problem?”.

Summer slumber moving me towards the letting go and the crisp of cool Fall.

I looked towards the sky, turned to go back inside and looked quickly, again back towards the tall pines.

One clump of green up way, way high, lit up golden,  welcoming the day. Day of change and chance.img_2100_kindlephoto-19126492

And I took it to heart, I thought…Yes, there’s still chance for new and good.

I angrily covered over a canvas last night, erased the amateur tones that couldn’t be made right.

Then, decided to write, to add some thoughts to words already started.

But, force and anxious effort took over.

Like the Psalmist I wondered,

Could it be God has forgotten to be gracious to me?

Psalm 77:9

Empty feeling, I left the words there, just draft.

Devoid of creative and exhausted from the effort.

I prayed later on. I cried, just a little. Surprisingly to some, I’m not at all the weepy one.  But, warm tears, just enough to blur my sight made sense.

Then, I just decided to let it be, let it rest.

So, as morning is purposed for, the morning sky gave a chance to understand…again.
It’s crazy how little tolerance we have for things not going like we think they should.

We can hit one roadblock or not get something just right and we concoct a whole dialogue about our lack of worth and our lack of being good enough for good things to happen.

I just wrote my monthly Faith column for the Wagener Monthly. This month,  about a blind man who thought he was blind because he was bad, his parents did too.

Never convinced him differently, even after he could see.

He met Jesus. He could see, he was healed. He believed. They still didn’t.

I falter in the two things I feel God has given me to do and I, like the blind man’s parents, start thinking…I was wrong, not me, not good enough, made too many mistakes to measure up to this gift.

That kind of thinking grows and grows until you become so miserable that you have to decide to be blunt and question yourself…where is this from…what’s this really about?

Asking yourself the things no one else would dare ask.

 Like, why did you find it necessary to post every single angel you painted? What were you seeking? What void were you attempting to fill?

Then, you remember.

Oh, this thing I used to consider joy, that used to fill me up and spill over, I’ve made it something else. I’ve made it a place that’s open to fault finding, to self-ridicule and worst of all, to comparison.

Then, jealousy.

So, you get quiet and you get back to you.

You rest,  let it rest. You sense the slow change, feel it, move through it at a sweet pace of your own.

You rest. You notice again.

I walked this evening. The cooler air separating the clouds, an intentional separating, breaking down and apart…sifted to smoothness and patterned for best.

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I turn towards home, stopping with the Labrador in the grassy spot that feels like country and linger with him in the weeds.

No need for rushing.

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We both look towards the place where the sky is wide. He saunters, the high grass brushing his belly and I  unleash him because we’re almost home anyway, it’s safe.

I look towards the sky, then we’re done with the day.

And I’ve not pushed, I’ve prayed some more. I’ll paint tomorrow, write again too.

I’ll welcome the unfolding of morning, the nod of evening skies knowing God has been so, so gracious.

Again.

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee

Believing Afraid

courage, Faith, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

image.jpegLast night, this thought just sashayed through my mind. Popped up, hung around and I thought, yes, this feels like truth.

Feels like revelation.

I thought, go write it down; but, didn’t for whatever reason. Friday night, long week why must I always think so much anyway?

Then woke and remembered and it was still just as good, just as huge and real.

Thought again of heaven, of first impressions and of impressions I may have made.

I could see it new and different after years of not quite enough, not seamlessly believing without doubt or living without faltering.

I could see that it was good, would be okay.

I imagined standing there before God and him caring less about my fumbling and more about my feeble yet persistent pursuit. I heard him say…

I saw you learning to be loved, learning to believe. It was beautiful to see how those around you saw me through you.

I saw you being afraid, too. I saw the times you let your fears suffocate your belief and so you stumbled and you had some failures in your faith and in some things you let go your pursuit.

But, don’t be troubled. I’m not disappointed.

I saw you, saw you believing more everyday. I saw the times your heart’s rhythm was at ease or was joyous. I saw you, when you believed and your soul thrilled in its place of peace. I saw the blue of your eyes, clearly opened anew and the curve of your quiet lip in a humble smile.

I saw you.

Believing, afraid.

I made a new list, a letter to self. One side, what I believe, the other what I’m afraid of.

Then sat and colored in my Bible in the place where John recorded Jesus’ time on earth, the place where disputes over believing in Him and His outlandish love, healing, and behavior were deemed inappropriate.

They were afraid to believe, I guess.

Aren’t we all, until he reminds us?

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

 

 

 

Effort, less

Children, Faith, grace, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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I finished a grant, resubmitted a report, calculated the number of homeless in need of shelter and hugged a mama who wants to see her daughter left in another state because at least there was a home there.

Chasing grants, projecting budgets, tweaking outcomes.

I helped another mama figure out how to search for a surrendered child and I requested items needed from donor.

Finished up screenings, collaborative efforts in recognizing depression and inventoried supplies, worried over funding loss.

Came home, reached for leash, ready to walk. He pulled, on a scent, resisted me all the way.

We walked, out of synch. I was annoyed.

Unregulated in his walk, routine off, he calms finally.

So anxious to begin, worn out and panting towards the end.

Leash off, water bowl filled.

Not at all refreshed, renewed.

So,  I put out food for the birds. I can do this at least.

Then painted, finishing a landscape.

I love it so!

I remembered my son’s call, just when I’d decided to be okay without his call…he called.

Oh my.

Reached for the phone to text my daughter then,

She called me first. “I was just about to text you!” I said.

Oh, the joy of things unexpected.

The things that happen without effort.

Effort, less.

I filled the bird feeders and then noticed the seeds had become moist, clumped all together.

So, I left a little more, expecting it not to last.

But, happy to know it was discovered.

 

Better is a handful of quietness than two handfuls full of toil and a striving after the wind.

Ecclesiastes 4:6

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story. http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tell-his-story/

 

Treasure

courage, Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

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I have sort of a secret. It’s more than sorta personal, the kind of thing you hesitate tell somebody or somebodies because there’s no way their reaction will honor the beauty of what’s been shared.

So, it’s been over a month now since this thing happened. I’ve recorded its occurrence in my journal, they way it appeared least expectedly.

The answer to a prayer while walking one evening. I’ve had answered prayers before, big, heavy and hard ones I’ve laid out before God, mostly about my children,

Rarely, so boldly about me.

I prayed that miserably hot afternoon, “Lord, is it your will that I write this book?” (I almost left the word “book” out here, doubts, fear, etc. saying don’t put that out there…don’t be so brave, keep it to yourself). The talk with God rambled on as I walked.

“Lord, I don’t want to think the way I’ve always thought. Maybe, deep down I don’t believe it’s possible. I believe it’s only a dream and this battle between believing it possible and fearing failure is strong.

So, Father I’m asking,  do you want me to follow through, is writing a book a part of your plan for me?”

Walked on, relieved to have gotten it all out in the open. Better for being straight with God, like finally breaking the silent treatment with your spouse, the tension of what needed to be said is lifted.

It’s a start, at least towards good.

You say what you need to say and decide to just carry on regardless.

Not like a limbo state, just a sense of okay either way. Might seem like nothing but at least your load’s been lifted.

And now, I ramble.

The morning after the walk and talk, I do my normal sitting, reading, praying and lingering.

Typical morning, same routine and route.

Heading in to the office, good music, traffic info and some talk of events on the radio.

Then a word out of nowhere. Something I heard, crazy I couldn’t remember why or when.

“Treasure” it said and rested in my mind.

“Treasure”

“Treasure”

“This is your treasure, Lisa. This is your ability, your opportunity. This is your thing, I planted there, a tiny thing that you’re only beginning to see. But, you see it now because you’ve gotten quiet. You see it now, because you’ve gotten loud and unafraid about it. You see it now because it won’t let you not see it. Don’t conceal it any longer.

This is your treasure. This is your treasure. The thing you carry around with you everyday, embrace it some days and fear it others…the thing you’re crazy excited to do and the thing that you’re terrified of.

This is your treasure, it has great significance.”

i heard God’s  voice. It’s impossible to minimize this experience or to detail it in a way that matches its reality and quiet awe.  It was real, not spectacular, just real.

It was His answer and so, I will write the stories, compile them with grace, with brave and honest recollections, “The Colors of my Bible” will be its title.

Because, six months ago, I scribbled this hurried question across the page of my journal. Writing the words in an anxious “gotta write this down before I decide it’s too heavy to write…to even think!”

“Lisa, what if it is God’s will for you to write a book…200 pages or so…and one person, maybe two connects with your story and has hope, understands God more clearly, believes in redemption in a way that’s not just a word for others?  Isn’t that enough? Wouldn’t that be more than enough? “

So, continue. Finish. This is your treasure, honor it. Write God’s book.

This is your Treasure in you, a humble and hesitant jar of earthly clay, created by God.

 

 

To Know Him

Faith, grace, praise, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

imageI wonder if the skies were prepared to welcome him.

If the darkness of His death night was illuminated as magnificently as his birth night.

If the hierarchy of officials wept in regret over succumbing to the crowds who protested their decision, their desire.

Herod and Pilate, both longing to know this man, to experience his healing, longing just to meet him.  Maybe even excited to know that things could be different.

They must both have been longing for more than just existing, controlling, surviving.

Aren’t we all?

They had heard of  his power and love. But, embrace His love, abandon their power?

They caved to the maddening cries of those all around, the seekers of gore, of violence, of death, of spectacle.

I missed this part in the story until today

or perhaps, my heart’s more receptive or longing to be reminded.

When Herod saw Jesus, he was very glad, for he had long desired to see Him, because he had heard about Him…Look, nothing deserving of death has been done by Him. Luke 23:8, 15

I’m fascinated by Jesus.

I’m enthralled by the nuances of His life.

Life sacrificed for me, for them.

But, they demanded with loud cries that he should be crucified. And their voices prevailed. Luke 22:23

I believe the stars were magnificent that night, gave a new clarity, a regretful longing to wish they’d known him more.

Oh, for grace to trust Him more.

To know Him more.

Jesus, Jesus

How I trust Him.

 

 

 

Love and Prayer

Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

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…one of his disciples said, “Lord teach us to pray.” Luke 11:1

And he answered them.

If there are things people might know me by, have to come to mind when my name is mentioned,

May it be that I pray and that I love.

That love may not only show in acts; but my eyes reflect the softness of accepting another…as they are.

And may my prayers be quietly powerful, repelling all harsh or hard things, wrapping others in the beautiful paradox of God’s gentle strength.

More than my paintings, expressive words, talks in fancy settings or boastful sharings of the gifts of my children and family.

Not some big to-do, just lots and lots of little “do’s” done with love. Constant and confident recollections of God hearing my prayer and coming near, of His demonstrative love towards us all.

Love and prayer, prayer and love. Content in this place of solitude, this pursuit of discipleship,

I pray I be.

 

Saturday, opening slowly

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

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My husband opens the cabinet, “Oh, we have bread!” like it’s the greatest joy on earth.

I’ve cooked us breakfast. Simple.

Bacon, scrambled eggs with a touch of heavy cream and sharp cheddar.

He contemplates the fig preserves. The jar lid sealed with the sticky juice of fruit, gritty as the lid is turned to open, figs sugary and rich line the sides.

“Should these be still good?” He asks.

“I’ve been eating them, but there’s a new jar of blueberry in the cabinet.”

So, he opens it up. “Man, there’s a lot of blueberries in here.”

He tells me three times. Fresh bread in the cabinet and blueberry preserves like his grandma’s, these things  have set the course his day.

I woke later than usual. My day is open.

I have seven or so blank canvases and thoughts I need  to pull together into sentences, paragraphs; perhaps, a chapter.

My prayer, bedside, before I made the breakfast with fresh  bread and blueberries…

Lord, thank you for this day. For chances to decide how to fill my day. Make me more open to seeing the me you see.

I give you my day and I’ll remember to remember that this day, this life is from you and for you. Because of mercy, Amen.

The mere thought that God wants to make me holy, sees the potential in me to be holy.

Sees the possibility of his idea of me, his plan for me lining up close together!

The truth of this astounds me.

Me, unworthy. He, unrelenting.

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I read from Jeremiah and I think then, “What are the plans for me Lord, the ones you call declarations?”

Almost noon now, I decide to taste the blueberries, so I have some toast.

I’m content in the day’s slow unfolding.

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 Blueberry preserves from a pretty jar, buttery toast and the chance to listen, to know even just a little more clearly, God’s plans for me.