wisdom

Turning Towards Better

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

God has more power than the forces of harm.

This thought became a decision this morning. I woke happily relieved of a restless night that included a horribly realistic dream.

I was pleasantly awakened by the slight sound of “ding”. It reminded me of a whisper, maybe a mama coming close, saying “Sweetie, it’s time to get up.”

Expecting a photo of my granddaughter, I reached for the phone, slid it under the covers so I wouldn’t wake my husband.

Instead of a photo, it was a message from someone who messages me each year a couple of days before my birthday. Each year, the message includes “Toward”.

I open it to enjoy a video of Schroeder from the Peanuts at the piano playing a classical version of the birthday song. Lucy barges in and wants to sit next to him. He says no and she huffs away complaining something akin to creatives needing their space!

I smiled.

I turned towards the glow of morning and opened my palm to give God today, to ask for His guiding.

The birds were uplifting in the tone of their chirping as I sat to journal. This too, I welcomed.

It was time to make sense of the nightmare, time to process it and take what good I could from a vivid story, someone trying to once and for all kill me and me imploring them.

“No, things are better. Things are different.”

I spoke those words to the evil in my sleep.

I woke and remembered the horrible parts along with the prayers I’d prayed just yesterday in my private place.

I’d listened to a podcast about miracles. It stuck with me that we can be bold in our asking; but, first we must let go any unforgiveness.

“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.”
‭‭Mark‬ ‭11:24-25‬ ESV

I prayed that way yesterday, forgiving people and forgiving behaviors.

Forgive me for my failures as I forgive those who failed me.

The day continued well and then the inability to sleep followed by the scary reminiscent dream.

I steadied my mind and set my intentions on “toward” as I wrote a note to myself. “What can I take from this?”

In the quiet, God answered.

I have no doubt it was Him.

In the nightmare, my words were clear. I was not silenced by the offender.

I spoke firmly and said. “But things are better, you don’t have to harm me anymore.”

Hearing my own voice was significant, I realized and different than the nightmares of before.

Better is believing God.

Better is believing in my very own prayers, my voice. Better is being confident that God has more power than the forces of harm.

Two separate podcasts and a birthday message sealed the deal of this hopeful conversation between God and me.

A podcast on the Lord’s Prayer reminding me of God as my loving father, a podcast about deciding to be “with” God, a God of miracles in every endeavor.

Both were reassuring of the good God I love and who loves me.

My heart danced with joy when Allen Arnold (author of “The Story of With”) spoke of deciding on a dream with God’s agreement and beginning to flourish.

This was confirmation. This is the story of “Look at the Birds” a soon to be published children’s book about worry. A story God spoke so clearly one morning and then kept speaking, “don’t just let this go.”

But, I almost did. Yesterday, I found a note to myself. I almost gave up on the book. I’d added to my to do list, “just hang the bird paintings in Elizabeth’s room.”

That very day the publishing company called to discuss moving forward. I said “Yes, I’ve decided. I’m ready to publish.”

Knowing that there’s no clear measure of success monetarily or simply the book having readers.

However, the success is in the continuing towards a calling, the creativity of God in me.

The memories of last night’s terror have completely subsided. It’s midmorning and I’m looking forward to an early birthday celebration later. I’m thinking of another heron painting. I’m remembering the prayer I believe.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?

And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭6:25-27‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God, you have miracles unseen.

I hope you’ll believe this for you.

Look at the birds.

Continue and believe.

Here are the links to the podcasts referenced:

Susie Larson with Addison Bevere

The Thriving Christian Artist with Allen Arnold

Following Well

Abuse Survivor, Art, birthday, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, hope, memoir, mercy, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

This is one of those posts that needs a disclaimer: Memoir type personal plus possibly all over the place rambling, one of those that simply recording it cements the value of it all coming together.

Oh, and about aging and accepting it and not being caught up in regret.

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. II Corinthians 4:16

I made a scribbled list of verses that comforted and confirmed my hopeful thoughts. I read a familiar passage, one used to reassure or comfort others after a disappointment, tragedy or just acceptance of unexpected change.

“God will make good of it.” Christians are known to say.

I cried the night before in front of my husband, not a horribly uncontrollable weeping, more a soft release. Tender, it felt.

We were catching up on things, I needed a few minutes of his attentiveness. Earlier, I pulled into the driveway and he greeted me and the only reply I gave was, “That did not go very well at all.”

He asked for an explanation. I said “later” and realized I was worn out from sharing how this unexpected thing made me feel, exhausted over trying to have another person understand my needs, my secrets, my reasons for anxiety.

Psalm 107 caused me to say softly this morning, “Wow”.

I’d found one verse and it fit and then I turned to read the chapter entirely, the one with the header in my Bible, “Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So”.

“Some wandered in the wilderness, lost and homeless.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭107:4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

I still have things to say, the optimism of this truth met me.

I thought of my years of wandering, most of them not a misleading of my own making, but of being caught up, trapped, lost and to this day surprised to be a survivor.

I paused to pray. I thanked God for keeping me safe, for preserving my life.

Some things have happened in these pandemic panicked days that have triggered me.

Felt similar. There are requirements of this time that remind of control, of powerful demand, of being silenced; the mask I wear as mandated shields me for my health and others yet, reminds of being held down, told not to yell.

Last month, my dental woes began. A bridge that made up for four lost from damage teeth shifted and broke from one tooth that was an anchor.

I stood up in my art room, felt the slight change and it fell into the palm of my open hand.

“Bewildered” is a word my precious cousin used to describe me as a child. At gatherings she says she remembers seeing the expression in my preteen eyes and thinking, bewildered.

I was relieved that someone had seen it.

Here I find myself, a few days from 60 and bewildered again. Having to be reminded of the blows to my face and the hard slaps on my cheek over thirty years ago. The dental surgeon displayed the elaborate 3-D images of the jawline, the place where the cheek makes a little circle when I smile, the place that is now in resting mode as I prefer not to smile due to this gap of only gum because of broken bridge that covered missing teeth.

The surgeon seemed empathic, so I felt I should give an explanation as to why due to past trauma I was not a viable candidate for dental implants.

Why someone who looks pretty okay now at one time was not.

So, I spoke of my past. Soon after, wishing I hadn’t. It was not safe to share. Not that it was taken lightly or not heard, it was not safe for me to hear my own sharing.

It reminded me of being unseen and unheard in my past and deciding to stop asking, to change my expectations.

So, that night my husband sat and I told him how I felt in the dental chair and how the trauma of my past was being reborn and fighting to be thought and overthought. Saying this to him helped.

I cried a little and then decided to change my thoughts. I decided to resist the downward plummet into always a victim.

This is transformation, this intention to be aware of my safety, to begin to see that this is what Paul meant when he wrote all things God makes good.

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them. For God knew his people in advance and He chose them to become like His Son. Romans 8:28 NLT

I saw this often quoted verse differently. It is not that God wants me to accept that the bad things were bad and somehow I am to accept that they will be made good. It is not that we don’t have sorrow, are expected to hide our longings for our mother and father who died before seeing a grandchild. It is not that we are naive thinking a crisis that leads to pain will magically feel better, be considered a good thing.

No, this passage is about the good that comes with acceptance of the bad and to continue to thrive, to continue to move towards a likeness of Jesus, to decide not to be pulled into misery over trauma, to be intentional in your speaking to your self, “You are safe. You made it and you have so much more making. You have still more story of redemption to tell.”

You can feel it. You are being called towards God’s purpose.

The purpose? Transformation

Your body is aging, shifting, even moving towards failing. All the while your spirit is blooming like a wildflower spread!

You were lost in a sad wilderness long ago. You decided on a different path, there were helpers but you set out at first on your own. You were and remain found!

A blind beggar lingered roadside as Jesus walked by. He and the disciples had just discussed which of the twelve would be most important of all. Jesus did not entertain the conversation as they continued on, only telling them not to be surprised that the last will be first.

The blind man spoke out, shared his plight and asked for mercy. The onlookers told him to be quiet. Jesus heard him and told him to come near. He jumped up from the dirt and went straight to Jesus. Jesus asked him how he could help and the man, blind Bartimaeus told him he wanted to see.

Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.”So they called to the blind man, “Cheer up! On your feet! He’s calling you.”  Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him.The blind man said, “Rabbi, I want to see.”

 “Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road. Mark 10:49-51 NIV

There are many stories of healing in the Bible with similar endings, people in need are made well. People who’ve been harmed are healed. People who have been wronged or been wrong receive mercy.

Their faith, our faith has healed us.

And so they move forward in that very faith as followers, not backward glancers filled with regret or question of why and how and what was that sorrow’s purpose anyway?

He brought them out of the darkness and the shadow of death, and burst their bonds apart. Psalm 107:14 ESV

Shortly, I will be back in the dental chair. I will begin the process to choose a partial (oh, that word!) over implants and I will accept what seems, feels and sounds so bad is best for me, is better. Better, than I expected.

I am safe. I am well.

I am still following. Continuing and believing.

Made good.

The Very Best Dream

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, courage, doubt, Faith, family, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom
Found feather

I woke up and remembered, I had the very best dream.

I told my grown up children, with me because of our beach vacation.

We were all together the night before. They both know my ways. My son, for years slept across the hall, sometimes heard my night terrors. Morose recollections typically triggered by the slightest unintentional fear created dramas in my sleep.

So, when like a breath of fresh clear air, I had an optimistic dream, I had to tell them.

The night before we’d all sat together around the table. Adult children joining in conversation about Co-Vid, the election, the changing world known as America.

My son-in-law shared a video being shared all around. A county or city meeting somewhere in Florida and an invocation to something, anything other than God that led to six or so people standing and leaving.

The person giving the invocation prayed to nature and the earth and the only mention of Jesus was that he “might” forgive us.

I wasn’t particularly bothered by the video, I’d been in similar meetings, I told them.

I recalled a time I chaired a coalition I initiated to understand the issue of homelessness. I added that a member of the coalition decided each meeting should begin with a “good thought”, a sort of prayer.

I told my family, I never left the room, I simply did not bow my head. I did not join in the prayers that forbade the mention of Jesus.

Then I said to them,

It’s really going to be different for your children, an effort really to keep talking about Jesus.

Then my husband added that it will be okay, our parents probably felt the same worries.

Then we all said goodnight and exhausted from heat and beach went to bed.

I dreamt of a group regathering. I must’ve been invited as if a charter member or ex-officio sort of thing.

Three days after the dream, the details are skewed.

Like a reunion, we all spoke of what we’d been up to.

I stood in front of twenty or so people and I talked about my relationship with Jesus. I told the people who prayed the prayer excluding God and Jesus why I prayed differently.

I’d been with these people before. This time I felt welcome.

I felt free to be me.

I spoke with clarity. They were enthralled and actively listened. In the dream, there were men and women encircling me, attentive.

I recalled my days of being afraid of God, of being certain of my unworthiness, my days of working hard as a teenage peddler of paper booklets called tracts. I convincingly told of my God whom I believe in.

Someone, a well-dressed theologian sort asked,

“When did you decide to believe in God?”

In the dream I answered “about twenty years ago”.

And the questioner added, “that’s a long time, a long time…where are you now” as if I shouldn’t still be increasing my believing.

And I answered.

I’m just still growing and I’ll keep growing in my knowing of God.

It was the best dream. I’d been in meetings, spoken to large crowds, detailed our need for support and hinted occasionally of my faith.

But only hinted.

Tonight after unpacking sandy beach coolers, clothes and stuff, I had a good walk and thought of the dream that sang of freedom.

As I walked, I opened my palm easily upward to heaven and I thought, prophetic dream.

Not having a clue if that’s a possibility of me…for me.

Prophetic? Me?

My friend says these are not the days to lean into Jesus, rather these are the days to press ourselves to Him.

I couldn’t help but think of impression, allowing God’s impression to be made on me.

No longer overthinking it, not being afraid of it not being true.

Simply believing that it is just as Jesus said, He is the way. He is the answer to His Father’s plan so we have hope, experience peace and eternity with Him.

Google the sinner’s prayer or search the Bible or if you’re fortunate like me, a kind voice will tell you if you ask how it can be…

“Just pray for mercy.” they may answer.

Understand you were born a sinner, admit it. Confess that realization in a prayer to your Creator and then believe in Jesus and keep believing despite the world finding it irrational or a silly offensive fairy tale.

“Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me.”
‭‭John‬ ‭14:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Allow Jesus to begin your transformation, as you press in.

Left forever, that mark like a print from an original masterpiece making.

Four days without journaling other than scribble marks with the baby, I read my Bible this evening.

“Ye shall walk after the Lord your God, and fear him, and keep his commandments, and obey his voice, and ye shall serve him, and cleave unto him.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭13:4‬ ‭KJV‬‬

These are old words with timely discovering by me.

Cleave, to unwaveringly believe.

Cleave, not a word you might use usually.

This is me. This was me in my happy dream, being brave and contentedly certain of being loved by God, cleaving.

And God loving me.

Sweet dreams.

Say your prayers and sweet dreams.

23rd Psalm and the Nearness of God

birds, Children, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom

I saw God today in the tiny hand that reached for mine, the searching and saying “yellow” as we spotted leaves lying in late summer sand ready for new season.

My morning drive, an early one considering the four months of no rushing necessary, was a good one. A podcast I love on Tuesdays, ended with a gentle recitation of Psalm 23, The Message version.

“GOD, my shepherd! I don’t need a thing. You have bedded me down in lush meadows, you find me quiet pools to drink from.

True to your word, you let me catch my breath and send me in the right direction.

Even when the way goes through Death Valley, I’m not afraid when you walk at my side. Your trusty shepherd’s crook makes me feel secure. You serve me a six-course dinner right in front of my enemies.

You revive my drooping head; my cup brims with blessing. Your beauty and love chase after me every day of my life.

I’m back home in the house of GOD for the rest of my life.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:1-6‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Today included some garden hose water play followed by chalk art on the porch and then coloring with fat crayons on an old cardboard box.

Then lunch, then counting the seventeen stair steps together, then a book and then her midday slumber.

Then, quiet.

A house so quiet.

I remembered a time when the phrase was common, a question meant to bring self-assessment.

Where did you see God today?

I knew for sure I’d seen God in the sweet sleepy eyes of Elizabeth and in the light landing on the wild fuzzy fern. I saw God first thing as I drove up the hill to their home, listening to the 23rd Psalm.

I had lowered the window to capture the sunbeams through the lean early morning trees.

Later realizing that wasn’t the most beautiful thing.

The most beautiful sight captured was the little image of the mirror and the winding road behind me, the place I’d come from on my way to where I was going.

Beauty and love have been chasing after me all the days of my life.

Today, I saw God and I saw them both.

Where did you see God today?

The Pace of Peace

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, eating disorder, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom

I’ve taken some advice I used with others making their way towards change, women working to steady their lives after losing their footing.

I remember suggesting,

“Look in the mirror, you’ll know how you’re doing. You’ll see if you’re changing.”

“The light of the eyes rejoices the heart, and good news refreshes the bones.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭15:30‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I see the signs of aging, the crinkly look of already used tissue paper is the texture of the skin on my neck.

My nose is wide, not graceful or balanced below my eyes.

My lashes are short and somehow my actual eyes appear tiny.

This was the observation early morning after sleep not coming and my frustration over it.

I’m one who needs my sleep and very well knows it. I woke up to the problem when I got up close and peered into the bathroom mirror.

I remember just days ago an acquaintance and I talking about not recognizing each other after a few years because of the mandatory mask.

The old friend disagreed, told me he’d recognize my eyes anywhere, that they are very intense.

I wonder how it can be when age and life it seems are dulling their blueness so rapidly.

No amount of wrinkle cream or remedy seem to make a difference.

The difference is deeper, it’s the soul of me I am learning.

Two days after fixating on the size of my nose I visited the early morning mirror and now, it’s daily. I compare me to that sad selfie I won’t be sharing, thank you, as a tool to assess what I believe.

Beauty is born in the soul. Clarity and hope will not shine through if the source of them both is sought outside the place that inhabits God in us.

To be honest, it’s the approaching sixtieth that has me accepting my appearance and racing to catch up with time wasted not caring about my health or caring too much obsessively towards harm.

So, Monday has me focused on what I know now and what I’m doing that is good.

Because I can’t circle back on life’s walk and erase unhealthy choices. I can’t run ahead and anticipate or offset dreadful aging.

I can live today.

Begin again every morning knowing God keeps no records of wrongs only watches and nudges us toward learning.

I can look in the mirror and marvel over its honest reflection. I can be happy over my current condition trusting my eyes will tell me what is different as well as what choices I make that need to be different.

God is with me.

All the way. Good things are coming with brave choices and gentle faith in myself as I wait.

As He waits for me not to undo my past or catch up, just to join alongside Him.

“So the Lord must wait for you to come to him so he can show you his love and compassion. For the Lord is a faithful God. Blessed are those who wait for his help.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:18‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Want to know the condition of your soul?

Look into your morning mirror first thing and then continue.

Continue and believe.

It is well.

It is well with my soul.

Live Today

Abuse Survivor, birthday, bravery, confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, grace, hope, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

Yet another list I’ve made after completing three little things yesterday. This list is different, a note to self about enduring, about this time as a time for living.

Eternally Valuable Days

  • Mend fences and repair barbed wire barriers and hurts in relationships.
  • Make them stronger by your willingness to work harder, to dig down deep to prevent future toppling.
  • Commit to loving for the long haul, a firm decision.
  • Laugh, it is allowable.
  • Sleep without guilt over long sleeping.
  • Be mindful in your use of time, not mindless.
  • Look up to the wide sky and see the vast possibilities and the actual purpose of you. Open yourself up to it.
  • Look at the birds. Consider the lilies. Fixate upon the ebb and flow of water, the power of the ocean. Go to these places.
  • Endure the delay that comes with the decision to do the big thing that requires simply moving forward.
  • Believe in Jesus. Believe Jesus, not just the idea of Him. Believe.

“Do all things without grumbling or disputing,”
‭‭Philippians‬ ‭2:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A month from today, I turn 60. The truth of that day is accompanied by the truth of that number. Age and learning, age and realizations of time, times remembered and the brevity of time allotted.

I’m on the fence really, a contradiction as usual. On the cusp of beginnings and still surprised by bright ideas.

Still able, still trusting and still willing.

So very willing to discover fully God’s idea of me ordered long long ago that I’ve only see faint peeking in the open door of!

Hopeful, set on hope not fear because of this disgruntled world.

Eternally valuable, I’ll use as my days’ choices.

“A repining life is a lingering death.” Benjamin Whichcote, “Joy and Strength” devotional

Our Faint Hopes

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, hope, love, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

“But all who listen to me will live in peace, untroubled by fear of harm.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭1:33‬ ‭NLT‬‬

A trusted friend with a windowsill full of orchids has told me to let it be.

It will bloom again. I’ve allowed the fallen petals to stay, evidence in some way to me that my orchid will flower again.

One morning, I’ll be greeted by the beginnings of a bloom nurtured from the strong green stem that I’ve kept watered although it does appear hopeless.

If you could see my friend’s orchids, you’d trust in her confidence too.

Today, my guide in the back of my Bible had me start again. Psalm 1 and Matthew 1 along with I Chronicles, the lineage of Jesus.

I added Proverbs 1 because I felt the need for wisdom.

Joseph is met by an angel who assures him being married to a pregnant woman does not mean shame or fear.

Rather, it is a grander thing. It is a conception by the Holy Spirit. It had nothing to do with the humanness of him.

“Joseph, to whom she was engaged, was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly. As he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. “Joseph, son of David,” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭1:19-20‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Joseph believed the voice that assured him, God has made you a part of a long ago established promise.

Joseph listened and continued beside Mary.

He was alone, quiet, considering “cutting and running” when he heard a voice he was certain of.

Yesterday, something I thought was wonderful happened to me. A dream come true, evidence of God’s goodness, a blessed thankful answer to a deep longing. A legacy, a book for Elizabeth.

But, I misunderstood. I misread the agreement. I felt stupid, a novice, naive.

And then, I didn’t.

I listened to the Holy Spirit. I turned my attention towards the way forward. I decided to continue, just more informed and learning.

I decided to believe, not yet but soon and surely.

Like the orchid that has been bare for the same six months of dread and pandemic, the strength is in its roots, the up flow of nutrition from the hidden place within.

The leaves are bright green.

The tangle of grey in the pot is getting thicker.

I can’t see any evidence of it, I must trust the uncertainty of my part, watering it.

Much like my confidence in these days. It will topple if I’m overwhelmed by every argument towards dread. I am not capable of keeping my hope if I listen to the voices of fear, conflict, condemnation and death.

I must stay quiet, quiet enough to be reassured by the Spirit of God in me, the voice that says don’t join in the fear.

The voice that gave me the prayer yesterday, a simple one, a request for relief and assurance.

Relief and assurance.

“In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him.”
‭‭1 John‬ ‭4:9‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Listening to voices other than the voice within me, my “soulmate”, the Holy Spirit leans towards discontent, disgruntlement, dismay over a dreadful next day.

The longing of my heart begs my return to listening intently to my Heavenly Father.

I will listen today to the voice that promises new growth, a flowering of my bitter and often dried up thoughts and hopes.

I will believe.

I will continue.

“Thy longing is the faint response of thy heart to His call.” F.B. Meyer, Joy and Strength devotional

Conversations of Worth

contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

“You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:3-5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I lost my earrings, figured I left them in another city or in my exhausted unpacking mistakenly added them to the laundry or trashed them with the junk at the bottom of my purse.

I can be haphazard. I tend to hurry up the getting every thing together, keeping what I can keep under control.

I told my husband I lost them. My way of saying these are very special to me, marking a time of love expressed, rough patch made smooth. I’d misplaced them before, he didn’t seem worried.

Tiny little diamonds, not really of a great amount of worth in dollars, just a memory, their value.

I decided to accept they were gone. I’d really messed up this time, no more mercy in finding what was lost through carelessness.

And then I returned to the place of safekeeping and there they were. The dependable and habitual little tucked away spot, I found them.

The place I hadn’t thought to check in my hectic and hopeless searching, I didn’t go there.

One day this week, I thought about prayer and its worth. I asked God and myself, “Am I even worthy of your hearing my prayer?”

No answer came other than the upward pull of an invisible cord saying, “You are. Continue”.

Continue even if you feel you’ve depleted your mercy reserve, if you feel you’re not steady and straight enough in your path to clearly encounter me and your answer.

Continue to pray even though I know what you need before you plead.

Continue to return to your hopeless/hopeful stance that is an admission of your need for connection with me.

Return to the place you last left me. Return to the place where you found me.

The tiny earrings are still safe. I may wear them today although I have no place to be.

I’ll think of their value to me and I’ll think of my value to God.

I’ll pray in relationship with Him. I’ll pray in a conversation that thanks God for my worth according to Him.

I’ll find my hand touching my earlobes to be reminded that I found what I was certain I had lost.

My room will be quiet and the conversations between God and me will be unspoken, a melody of Him singing to me, a conversation of worth.

“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139:14-17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I pray it be so with you, that you embrace the preciousness God knows of you. That you find Him in the place of wherever and whenever prayer. He is open to your conversation.

Believe.

Continue and believe.

How Long to Possible?

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, hope, memoir, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Teaching, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

“O Lord, my heart is not lifted up; my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me. But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131:1-2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Before I felt the truth of belonging there, I observed the setting. Twice in my life, a very long time ago, it was offered to me, possibility.

The high school art classroom, the teacher who spilled her very own love of painting all over the room, she started my believing.

She was less instructor, more demonstrator of art as a comfort, as a passion. She was evidence of the balm of creativity.

The English Honors professor who was a tiny force of expectation, a petite woman

She refused to accept my errors.

I remember the desk I arrived early to take, first row, third seat back. I hated my poor appearance, I avoided the walking across any classroom.

The room was so small, desks barely able to allow my thick to me frame. Classmates so close, it was uncomfortable to have another’s skin so near. But, my grades categorized me as Honors and I had no idea why, only that this class was significant, I was taken seriously. This exclusive group now included me.

The professor scared the mess of out of me until she convinced me, it was my writing that got me there, that qualified me. Not my parents, not my appearance. My writing was my how.

Four decades in between the idea of belonging and possibility are hard things, heavy losses and other type accomplishments.

Chronicling the years between what could have figuratively and literally killed me, the question of how is not of importance.

The answer of now is the result of believing I belonged in both classrooms and in what life and God knew were my possibilities.

“…which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Hope and possibility, words we value so vaguely, minimizing their power.

Think of someone, some thing in your history that pulled you close enough to listen, to believe that tiny voice of ideas and dreams unsought, unfulfilled, set aside would always be there. Then, pick it back up again, unconcerned with how, knowing you’ll treasure the day in the very near future when you decided on the possible.

In us, is the glorious hope of heaven because of Jesus. When we will fully believe, the details of our how are no issue.

Only today will matter, the day of grabbing hold of our set aside possibilities.

I’m linking up with others in a time when the “how” question is heavy and complex. How did we get here? How can we fathom it ever getting better? How can I be a difference maker? I don’t provide answers to things I don’t fully know. I can only hold fast to hope and possibilities and to be more like Jesus in all my encounters.

FMF Writing Prompt Link-up :: How

When I’m Old and Gray

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, Faith, family, Forgiveness, kindness, memoir, Peace, racial reconciliation, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Joy

Let it be known, my joy was found in Him.

The sound of a riding mower doesn’t obstruct the birdsong. The birds in the big high palm outside the window with my view have done their daily thing.

They’ve made sure that I have seen them before they go their way.

Off kilter because of allowing myself to go back to slumber, my mind is struggling through the mud it seems my soul is in.

Not quick to journal or to read my dailies, I just sit with coffee heavy with cream and honey.

That.

That sitting, I allow myself to see, that sort of sitting is not idle.

Sitting in slow silence with God and morning.

It is joy.

“You will live in joy and peace. The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands!”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭55:12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

The birds in the back are now excited. The lawn mower has moved to the far corner of the next door yard.

I step out to do what my mama taught. On hot days I water the plants before the sun is high in the sky and later, just as it fades.

I love the little things she gave me.

The man on the lawn mower is from one house away. He is cutting the widow’s grass perhaps unrequested. It seems an unspoken agreement that began when her husband got suddenly sick and then sooner than expected went to heaven.

We all were together in communication through texting as he grew closer to passing away.

The neighbors who are black and have two spunky twin girls and are expecting a third baby I believe very, very soon.

The mama watches out for me as I walk towards the safer place. She cautions me on the sharp curve knowing people avoiding the main road use our road as a hidden cut through.

Occasionally, the little girls will wave as they see me. Then they’ll wave again and again as if our waving towards each other is the happiest part of our days.

It always feels that way to me at least.

Excited, we are, to encounter each other. The mama and I talk about our children. We talk about our city. We talk about God. We talk about how we’re glad in a crisis that we know it’s mutual, the phone call away if we need anything.

It had been a while since I’d heard the giggling, the girls playing in their backyards on the fort their daddy built them. I hadn’t seen them at the driveway nor had I walked by and seen the mama taking care of her flowers.

I thought of walking to the back door. I’d done that before when the puppy got out or to drop off something.

I wanted to see my neighbor.

I longed for connection. Told myself, I’d stop that day, the day when most people changed their screens to just black.

Instead, I sent a message and I asked for her honesty. I asked just one question and said take your time with your answer.

I wanted to ask this of someone and I knew I could trust you to be honest.

I asked, “Have you ever felt my kindness to your family to be insincere?”

She answered that I should continue to be the person I’ve shown her, kindhearted and spiritual.

Then, she thanked me for being open minded and willing to have a candid conversation.

I felt she was thanking me to care enough about our differences of which neither of us had any control, to ask an honest question and then accept her answer.

You won’t find me joining in political dialogue. You won’t find me following the bandwagon of others. You won’t find me defending myself in an argument that doesn’t include a perspective I know.

Because none of us can ever know fully the heart of another.

Yesterday, I arrived early for grandma duty. I was worried my daughter would notice I’d been crying. I was serenaded by a song all the way down the long road before her road.

It’s a song about how I want to be remembered, to be remembered that I knew nobody on this earth had or would be able to love me like Jesus.

It’s a song about a legacy of that being enough. I’m so very far from that but so much closer to it than before.

Watering the plants this morning with the kind neighbor circling the widow’s yard, I notice the bright bloom stretching up from the grey leaves I only added to the pot on a whim. Brilliant yellow little flowers have grown from the hard soil of a given up on plant.

What good will come?

What good can come from all of this halfway through 2020 distress?

Maybe, we should change the question slightly.

What good has already come?

I pray you find all sorts of little evidences of that.

I pray you know you’ve been cared for by Jesus all the way, his faithful hand.

I pray you find your joy alone in Him. I pray it for me too.

Continue and believe.

We are one in Jesus. No one here on earth will ever love us His way, only be our example to follow.

Listen. https://youtu.be/wapXZkU-jFM

Let my children tell their children, may it be their memory.