waiting

Winds and Wills

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, heaven, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

From the window I watched a cloud-like gathering of mist rising up. I could see it drift and sort of fade and then it was evident again, dancing in an upward slow swirl and sway.

The breeze had gathered together it seemed, what was left of the misting rain and it wasn’t collected in anything that could contain it, just danced a bit and then disappeared.

Mystery, in a way.

The seasons, a metaphor maybe God uses to lead us, redirection or reinvention.

The gray rain sky changed to fog and mist and then later the sun landed on the daisies next to the sill.

The day changed.

Crisp, it called and my granddaughter and I went.

I watched the big brown leaves layered on the soft path and then their unlayering, leaning and lifting together with the notice of afternoon’s wind.

We talked about God making things, not sure what else.

We must’ve been listening.

Now today has delivered Autumn, the shift of season made the sky more transparent yesterday late evening.

Seemed that way. Translucent from my perspective.

It may be me.

Believing clarity is cusping.

No longer bold breaking through just responding to pending invitation.

Change, no longer resisted at all.

Direction? Now just a calm consideration of truth not fully revealed.

Shoes on my feet and my arms drawn in tight acknowledging the change.

Embrace the shift, the change, the lack of understanding of everything. Your path will be directed. Look and listen.

You will see.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭3:5-6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He will.

God’s Peace, You are Free

Abuse Survivor, Art, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, fear, freedom, grace, kindness, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

“You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭30:11-12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

It’s exactly as surprising and joyous as they say, being a grandparent. Some may say, it’s what I’m learning, an infant requires of your attention, a full percent and it’s never a demand, it is a precious gift.

Complement it with an idyllic setting, open field, blue sky wide, leaves changing colors and a quilt on a back porch situated perfectly for a breeze.

I sing with abandon. She listens, smiles. The acoustics are so good. My voice carries. God is near.

Being a grandmother, big chunks of uninterrupted peace. My granddaughter is privy to God’s refining of me.

Perhaps, it’s her and God’s idea.

How can I keep from singing your praise?

I welcome the unlearning of the traumatized me, I acknowledge it may take a bit.

I envision clarity like a treasure I bring up to my chest or it’s a tug of war, the big mean boy grabbing at what’s mine and me, scared of being overpowered.

I used to give it away.

Now, I’m angry over its thieves.

My little bit of peace and clarity jerked from my arms and the aggressor running away, turned back towards me, sneering and laughing his ass off!

I’d have used asterisks for the s’s but I decided not to veil the truth of this thought and image, the abusive act of my peace being stolen.

In the dim light of day as a way of escape, a rescue for my hurting heart came this morning.

The answer?

All things are possible with God.

I thought it over and over.

This! This is real.

Not with self-care, not a new counselor, not a community or “tribe”, not a webinar or self-help book.

Not some instructor, well intentioned but profiting from my naive determination shadowed by doubt and discontent.

These are the things that draw me in, make me prey to promises only God and I together can fulfill.

Bold revelation, you may say.

When I write this way, I’m a little worried and then I decide someone else may need to explore this, this self-handicapping behavior, this lesson in knowing our weak places, being uncomfortable with settling there.

The closer we get to God’s gracious idea of us, the more miserable we are wearing any other garment or expression.

Clarity came and may be the less traveled road to peace.

This leg of my journey will lead to peace.

A rarely talked about truth for victims of trauma, I’ve heard it spoken many times by my kind and skilled counselor friend.

People return to negative patterns because this is familiar, this is safe. The sometimes unhealthy behaviors are the most fail-proof remedy we know.

Thankfully not return to allowing physical trauma, more the insidious spread of subtle abuses to self, the power of our thoughts, our mindsets that

Sabotage our freedom.

Compile all the days you lived under the thumb of something or someone, succumbing to the control, manipulation or unfair, cast aside treatment by something or someone.

The undoing doesn’t just happen like the snap of a finger and thumb.

Take it easy on you.

Then do two things, Lisa Anne.

Now that you understand what you’re doing, be grateful not debilitated, give yourself grace.

Stop seeking validation, support, or yet another conversation in which you expect another human to fully understand your distress.

It’s not possible and it’s not their place or fault.

Your wounds and your beautiful hopes are far too deeply layered for another human being to understand.

Something about early morning, God always speaks as if to say:

I filtered your fears overnight, here’s what’s left, the sure thing you must now know. All things are possible with me.

This place God has brought me to, saved me from, kept me safe…how on earth could I think it’s possible to continue on my own?

I jot the “Jabez prayer” every morning.

“He was the one who prayed to the God of Israel, “Oh, that you would bless me and expand my territory! Please be with me in all that I do, and keep me from all trouble and pain!” And God granted him his request.”

‭‭1 Chronicles‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Today, I added little check marks next the lines in the beginning: I’ve been blessed, check, I’ve had my territory enlarged, check!

The last two things, I am still very much in need of, keep your hand on me God, keep me from self-harm, the thoughts that betray me, so that I won’t revisit, get caught up in my pain.

You see, I spoke of newfound freedom, the choice to live with hope not remorse. I made it seem so easy.

Yet, I didn’t give a thought to the multiple layers of harm that very hope would have to fight daily with the devil to stay real every minute.

The one thing just a glimpse of freedom will give, a strong and renewed will to fight hard against repeated entrapment!

An awareness that it is hard not to be a victim when you were one for so long.

It is hard not to be who you were.

Almost impossible.

It’s easier to be weak and manipulated than to be newly strong.

I boasted of hope, forgot I am not able on my own.

God is my counselor, my advisor, my strong encourager of looking forward not before.

This is not a grim post, only honest. I’m afraid honesty’s in my bones, got that from my father, God rest his quiet soul.

I rise now to continue the things He started in me, blessed me, continues to enlarge my territory through happy brave opportunities.

I’ve designed a 2020 calendar, available soon, each month, an image of a woman strengthened by hope and God.

(Hope to share by next week, tell you more about ordering.)

Some told me they were proud of me, well intentioned comments and I suppose make sense.

What I’m doing though, is just following through on a God-planted seed, an idea, God’s work through me.

Please don’t be proud of me. Together, let’s be proud of God.

I rise now to clean my “art and writing room”, to ready it for what is possible today.

Are you a victim of trauma, physical or emotional abuse?

My thoughts…be strong, believe in your freedom; but, don’t walk it out alone, without the one who knows you completely, God.

“Jesus looked at them and said,

“With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭10:27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Believe. Continue and believe.

Wonder, Full

Abuse Survivor, Angels, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Before he’d be going one way for the evening, I was preparing to go the other.

Walking the puppy, I noticed a feather.

We had a slight disagreement, nothing major. I reversed my car, felt the thump thump of something under.

I looked over and saw him, the look on his face saying, I’ll never fully understand her.

I had run over the garden hose.

He turned and I took off writing stories in my mind over the way God made me, makes us all.

“For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body.”

‭‭James‬ ‭3:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I found myself teetering on the edge of despair, emotional discontentment.

He listened and tried to understand, to an extent he did; but, when he came to my defense it only added to my frustration.

Only God knows me fully.

The soul he created, His beautiful anticipation of me.

“Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.

You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.

You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:14-16‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I’ve barely and inconsistently scratched the surface that might give a glimpse of the me that God sees and knows.

I find it hard to believe.

I practice intention and notice, otherwise I get sullen over the lack of notice by all the others.

I’m digging deeper, understanding a child that’s not validated will strive the rest of their days for someone to tell them they matter.

It helps to know the reason.

I found a feather, pristine and soft. I left it beside his phone before leaving. The music serenaded my husband as he watered the lawn. Like a peace offering for what I’d done he saw as wrong.

I envisioned him finding it, knowing it was an unspoken apology.

I walked alone later, the cool air sending leaves a flutter. It was good, good to walk alone.

A tiny feather I found for me, white and edged with brown, I slipped it in my pocket.

I’d been researching angels, read that finding a white feather, some believe is the presence of an angel near.

I couldn’t help but think of my mama and her love of Willie Nelson.

The line from a song about a sad soul, too far from heaven, about to lose her way or not belonging in the place she’d landed.

Too far from heaven, too close to the dirty earth and ground, the feather I found.

Angel flying too close to the ground…Willie Nelson

Back home, I saw my husband had left on the counter, a pear or an apple?

I couldn’t be sure.

I washed the tiny feather, laid it on top of the brown fruit to dry.

I can’t be certain if it’s an apple or a pear, I’ll just wonder.

Not slice it.

The beauty of it on my kitchen counter is enough.

The message of simple things, forgiveness, offerings of peace, images and objects that cause for me, remembrance of God.

Remembering with wonder.

Full of wonder over all I don’t yet see.

I am made for so much more than what I present on the outside.

I’m more significant in the eyes of God because of the me only He sees.

When God made me.

He decided my significance.

Enough.

Validated me in a way no words, acceptance, praise or accomplishment can get close to in measure.

The measure of my worth?

That God made me.

There’s a million reasons to trust Him. He knows me fully and yet, loves me still.

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭91:4‬ ‭NIV‬‬

May my soul find your nearness and stay near, God. May I be ever aware of what’s unseen, the spirit of you, nearer, nearer in my natural realm.

Too wonderful to know, too wonderful not to believe in the possibility of.

Believe.

Continue and believe.

If Not For Ideas

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, memoir, obedience, painting, Redemption, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I sit with the puppy, my mama’s quilt turned to the side with color, the puppy ate a rubber toy, the red ink of duck lips I concluded.

I flip it over, will wash it today. It’ll wait.

I think of my daddy when I think the word, “Idle”.

This daughter of his was altogether unprepared for independence and yet, I could charge my battery with a jump and when my little blue Celica wouldn’t start, I knew where to spark its start using a screwdriver to beat on just the right wire.

Crazy to think.

Resilience began late for me.

It hasn’t finished just yet.

On a Monday following a post about time chasing after things, I’m happy to have put my pen down, new to do list complete.

I’m sitting on the sofa, moving slowly into Monday.

The puppy is in heaven, our bonding getting better.

Positive reinforcement, not negative, consistent reward and maintaining my cues. What a job! He’s smart and according to the trainer, he really wants to please.

Full disclosure, I wanted a dog but chose a puppy.

Everything in life, a lesson…

Stay at it.

Someone said to me yesterday, resisting change and decision.

“Let’s just idle a little longer.”

I wonder what is their fear of moving forward.

I remembered my daddy telling me before the days of daughters stranded on the interstate with cell phones…I remembered his instruction.

Once you get it started, let it idle but not for long, give it the gas and keep going…My daddy, gone 21 years, this month on the 11th.

Warmth fills my eyes at the thought of me on the side of the road just outside of scary to me Atlanta, remembering how to start my car with a flathead screwdriver.

Wishing this morning I had thanked him for making me see that I was capable.

Capable combined with ideas.

Not able to be idle for long.

I’m learning it’s true what they say about confident waiting, about taking your hands and heart from a situation.

To be surprised when God shows up, shows out or simply gives a nudge.

Because I love understanding words, I compared “idle” to “waiting”.

Found “idle” to be not such a good thing: doing nothing, wasting valuable time, inactive or avoiding work.

See?

Waiting lends itself to a more hopeful stance: expecting, anticipating, to pause or my favorite, “stand by”.

I can visualize “stand by”.

It is evidence of believing truths like God fighting for me when I stay still. It’s indicative of faith, you know the whole enduring in hope of what you haven’t clearly seen.

Like the screwdriver in the hand of a scared and naive young woman about to flunk out on her art scholarship private college…

Waiting only takes a spark, a connection, one thing affecting another

And your engine is started.

You don’t idle. You put your hand and heart to the tasks, you know your ideas are like the pedal to the metal in the dark journey all alone, back home.

Back to you.

I think of a quote, knowing I don’t read nearly enough, so very grateful for recall.

Instructions for living a life. Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.  Mary Oliver

 

New this morning?

Dare I share that secret sweet hopeful maybe idea?

A coffee table type book of illustrations, my art, my “Bible girls”, each girl, a story about hope.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Maybe, I’ll wait

and see.

September’s Monthly Mail

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

I committed to a monthly newsletter and am learning as I go. Here’s an excerpt of September’s and an invitation to subscribe if you’d like to share in my imperfect, yet continued writing journey.

Zacchaeus came down from a tree and Jesus followed him home and in that home, if there’d been a confused, conflicted and peace seeking sister, she could have been me. 

Your Bible Story

Feel free to share.

LT

Glorious Name

Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, grace, mercy, Peace, praise, Prayer, Stillness, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Before I saw them, before we began our regular thing.

A morning walk.

Morning glories everywhere!

In the beginning, I cupped her in the crook of my arm, turned her face to where we were going

Talked to God

And she listened.

She looked up curiously towards the wide sky.

Every day she’s so learning.

I’m walking stronger, she’s moved from my arms to the independence of her stroller.

Too soon, no…she’s sweetly ready.

Happy there, more free to turn and notice, stretch her arms toward heaven.

Glory!

So am I.

I call her “morning glory” because of the way as a newborn she greeted the day with a smile.

I call her “morning glory” because she’s a teacher of good, she illuminates my world, causes me to cherish morning and walks and her round rosy cheek on my shoulder.

The morning glories on the country path are spread wider every morning.

Pops of tender blue increasing on their vines, crawling up the edges of the deep overgrown ditches.

Looking up.

Looking up, curious for God.

Certain of new morning glories tomorrow and beyond.

I call her “morning glory”, she causes my heart’s new bloom.

…now we thank you, praise your glorious name.

‭‭I Chronicles 29:13

So Small

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, hope, kindness, memoir, Peace, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

Out walking, I prayed.

Lord, I’m in need of some sort of confirmation, small something to say, keep waiting for it or keep writing or no.

Big things attempted, proposal and query, how embarrassing to walk away…

Decide it’s okay to stop or to persist?

A story came through scripture about the little boy with the little bit of bread and what Jesus told the disciples to tell the thousands.

“Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.”

‭‭John‬ ‭6:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then he multiplied the loaf, a miraculous sight.

The people were well fed.

Before the panic began, Jesus assured their need was met.

I’ve stopped tracking my followers and I’ve stopped asking for subscribers to my newsletter.

I’ve never been great at asking for things, I’m content with slipping back into my safe place.

The place that says find me if you need something, I’m always willing to listen and to help if I’m able.

I can pray.

This is not effective according to many in the community called writing. Not effective or conducive to being published, to being read.

To being valid, being noticed.

I get that. I understand and yet, small feels safe now.

Being okay with small seems a significant decision for me.

If one person reads a blogpost or an early morning relatable “sermon to self” that I share and feels more at peace or intrigued.

Isn’t that ministry?

Isn’t that me?

Wherever your life touches another life, there you have opportunity. George S. Merriam

Out of the blue, a friend asked for prayer, said she feels dismissed, sort of lost and empty.

I sent her a message back, a prayer.

We long for significance.

We look to outsiders and we long to belong somewhere, to be amongst the fancy others we decide have more purpose, are fulfilling theirs.

I’m thinking now about a woman in the Bible who has no name.

She is a widow.

She walks through the crowd to deposit two copper coins, amounted to a penny.

I’m thinking the others all around were comparing their donations and maybe some were humble or all were haughty.

They probably didn’t hear the coins as they fell from her hand into the place called the treasury.

I imagine the widow quietly turning to go her way, back to her solitary home.

Jesus saw her.

He saw that she gave what she could.

All she had.

“Jesus looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the offering box, and he saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. And he said, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭21:1-4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m more emotional now.

My throat is tight inside as I type and think of the worth of these words, the gift of what Jesus did.

We don’t know her name. We only know what she gave.

So small.

Yet, so significant.

I will check in with my friend later, hope she’s found some rest from her seeking to fill the emptiness.

Because I pondered whether we’re even supposed to believe we’re significant. I mean aren’t we supposed to be servants, meek and lowly

Humble?

I learned a while back, a young preacher who called me a hero called out my idea of staying humble, staying hidden, not drawing attention.

Told me that was false humility, not God’s idea.

And I didn’t tell him then because it has taken me a while to believe it.

Just like the widow with only two cents,

I am significant.

So are you.

Be Well

9/11, Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, depression, Faith, freedom, grace, grief, heaven, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, suicide loss, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

For a long time, very long time, we all remembered and talked about the time.

I’ve never been to New York City nor D.C.. I’ve never travelled by plane although I’m beginning to entertain the possibility, romanticize the big “6-0”.

I do remember the morning of 9/11. I remember I was at DFCS in my little square office with a window on a hallway with other “welfare” workers who I considered friends.

I loved working with these people. I did.

My mama called, the children were in school an hour away and I cannot remember whether we closed the office and all of us went home.

Eventually, I was with them, home and safe with my husband.

Changed, not because I knew anyone there nor remotely understood their trauma, fear, tragedy. I had no idea.

I have no idea.

Yesterday evening, social media informed me of the death of a popular young pastor and mental health pioneer,

By suicide.

I felt afraid because of his story, suicide and its occurrence is to me “scary”.

Because it’s happening more and because I’ve been with those who have been knocked down by the tragic reality.

I find it scary.

I’m following the journey of a child named Eva, in an induced coma now and it all started with a tumble to the ground, a simple fall.

Her mama wrote about hope this morning in her Instagram.

I began to think about life and hope.

About tragedy interspersed with triumph because it seems to me this is life in this world, in most of our worlds.

I remember my mama calling on 9/11.

I remember the morning my brother called to tell me my mama was gone.

The loud moan that came up from my belly that morning must have frightened my admin, the others in the office next door.

She was gone.

I had prayed so very hard she’d be healed. I had talked with her about faith and hope, brand new and uncomfortable things for me.

Things I thought were real, my mama’s death like a test I failed, my hope was either wrong or not enough.

I stopped believing.

Because, she was gone.

Mornings like that, losses and tragedies linger.

Tragedy is interspersed with triumph though.

This is life.

I believe it.

So, how did I continue, they continue…the ones for whom today brings fatal remembrances?

I believe we must choose as best we can with God’s help.

To be well.

Be the one who is able to say.

It is well. Even so, it is well. Even though, it is well. Although and even if, it is well.

I have this hope in God, in Christ Jesus.

It is evident.

Hope that says despite the very worst scenarios…

“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:”

‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3:21‬ ‭ESV

Not a vacant or mystical hope, there are reasons for my hope.

A baby I call “morning glory” because it fits, evidence of long and woeful answered prayers and a new sense of God being near me, of Jesus being personally acquainted with me, in spite of tragedy and triumph and every mistake , silly or serious misstep in between.

It is well.

Be well.

Decide to fight for yourself, to believe without the full understanding of why.

That God is sovereign.

And so.

It is well.

It is well with you.

And me.

All of us often out of rhythm, rocked by loss of life, out of kilter because of uncertain outcomes,

We are dwelling between two spaces, tragedy and triumph.

Reality.

But, glory, new glory comes every morning and often if you notice, it’s interspersed in the midst of moments.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Course Change

Abuse Survivor, baptism, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, surrender, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Does not wisdom call?

Does not understanding raise her voice? Proverbs 8:1

I heard them off in the distance and decided they were traversing through the warm fog towards the expected pond down the road.

I stood as the puppy followed his pattern, checking out the corner shrub, sniffing at the dirt; he is so slow in the mornings to do “his business”.

The sound of the geese came closer and I expected to see them fly over the four homes down subdivision.

Instead they were sounding very close.

I stood as the sound approached and there they were, two sets of geese perfectly positioned over me. So very close, I could see the pattern of their feathers and their soft curved bellies, their beaks breaking up the fog.

Two sets of seven or eight or so in their arrow design making their way to must be a new destination, course change, following new directions today.

The puppy scurried towards me and was startled, his little face looking up towards the sky as he hurried.

This is new for him, I thought; he has to figure out if he should run away or be okay, trusting their kind and sweetly patterned arrival.

Being safe and simply noticing.

Noticing God.

Like the random occurrence of the dragonfly perched on my cup poolside, it rested until I noticed and because I noticed, I captured it on my phone.

Someone asked, “You’re taking a picture of a dragonfly?”

I don’t believe I responded.

Because I had no idea the symbolism and I didn’t know how beautiful it and its traditional meaning would be.

Until this morning.

Until the meaning lined up with my prayer.

The Dragonfly normally lives most of its life as a nymph or an immature. It flies only for a fraction of its life.  This symbolizes and exemplifies the virtue of living in the moment and living life to the fullest.

I’m back to bedside prayers in the morning. To be honest it’s sometimes more like a long low downward dog pose, hoping for relief in the ache of low back.

I tumble from my bed to the floor determined to at the very least start well.

Start surrendered.

I think of the invalid who’d been so very close to healing waters but waited over half his life for someone to help him get well, help him from the ground into the water.

He waited to be noticed, for maybe someone to care and he used the excuses that well everyone else is beating me there, the line’s too long or perhaps, he felt the waters had lost their strength because of all the help they’d given everyone else…

Could there still be healing enough left in the water for me?

After all those years, he was paralyzed, not only his limbs but his mind and his soul.

Oh, man! I understand.

Stay where you are, settle in your place of thinking you can but never will.

“One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.” And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.”

‭‭John‬ ‭5:5-9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It’s no coincidence, the geese flying over, the visiting dragonfly and my different prayer this morning.

Lord, can my life truly be different? Help me live today in pursuit of the difference in me that only you know. Help me to be moment by moment today instead of rushing towards this evening, tomorrow or even next year. Can my life really be different? I’m willing to see.

I don’t think we know at all, even an ounce of what God might have planned if we are patient, persistent and willing.

I don’t think we see the magic and power of getting up from our “mats”… our places on the ground or the floor and embracing the change and changes God says are possible when we forget all the barriers, the doubts, the distractions and the pull of life backward or in unhealthy directions.

It may be slow. I’ll try to be steady.

I’ll go slow.

I’ll follow unknown paths perhaps.

Moment by moment, change will come and I’ll find myself in small yet surrendered places.

Positioned with Him because I moved from my worn out tattered and sad place and into the healing water.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

Changed.

Protected Child

birds, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, fear, grace, hope, love, marriage, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, Peace, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I watched the shifting sky, the colors filtered and spread wide.

I’m with my granddaughter on our morning walk, earlier this time.

The sky beckoning her gaze.

I capture her profile, her mama and daddy’s home in the background.

Her cheeks are full and full of joy and their blush is the same as what God has mixed in with the sky.

We walk.

I hold tight, shift her weight, careful not to have my arms press in to her tiny frame.

She welcomes my hold.

She regularly tilts her sweet face in awe of the trees, the sky.

I pray out loud, sing songs that include her name and other crazy things.

I love her. What a sweet thing.

Someone from the coast asked for my thoughts yesterday,

What do you say to your storms? DH

I answered.

I tell the storm, “I’m protected.”

This morning, I think of my children, my family and I have a moment of new and needed clarity.

If I’m protected, are not my children protected as well?

I journal my thoughts on a morning that God woke me at 4 and I decided, get up anyway.

I thought about God’s all encompassing immense and protective love.

How he loves them even more than I ever could be able.

God, you’re their protector just as you are mine.

I don’t have to “stay on top of things”.

I don’t have to anxiously remind you in my prayers to keep things under control.

Ha! Wow!

Me, reminding you of your role?!

I don’t have to watch from a distance so far that I squint to hope to see what’s going on, strain to hear, concentrate or calculate the endings of stories of their books when they are barely a chapter in.

And that you, not I, have already written.

I can set aside my book, my syllabus of reading between the lines, leaning toward tragic stories over beautiful and memorable autobiographies.

Like mine.

Yes.

I can know they are protected.

“No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us.”

‭‭1 John‬ ‭4:12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I can love more fully than I’ve ever loved.

Point more clearly towards hope.

Be strong so that my strength is what they admire.

Yes, love.

Love is the protection, mine to freely give.

Best I can offer.

Protection is yours.