wonder

Held

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

The empty lot on the street lined with homes is the home for the leaning tree.

The branches are thick and twisted, gnarly but producing papery leaves on wiry branches.

Long before the homes took up space here, the road was hard and dusty, clay.

My children were small and we walked like explorers down the road. Once or twice, the hills were covered in snow and they slid and fell and ran around in thick socks tucked down in tennis shoes, makeshift boots for children of the South.

I walked past this tree yesterday. The subdivision neighbors all know me I suppose, that woman who looks at the clouds, the one who walks very fast, the one not inclined to stop and chat.

I noticed the tree the day after I’d read about God’s response to Adam and his wife Eve.

I read of how God responded by making them clothing from animal skins to replace the covering they’d contrived in shame that was made of scratchy leaves.

I spent some time reminding myself of the interactions, of the course of Eve and Adam’s recognition of mistake and of their shame.

“And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭2‬-‭6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In the garden, Eve succumbed to the need to know more than she needed to know, to know more than was necessary for thriving.

God had provided everything.

She wasn’t quite sure, I suppose. She wanted to know more and wanted more.

The tone of God’s voice in response is sternly disappointed. The course of life changed not just for them but for everyone.

I wonder if God just wondered, is everything I’ve provided not enough?

They knew quickly that they were changed and with that realization came shame.

“Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths. And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭7‬-‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God responded.

This part of scripture is the one that brought me to tears, the provision of God in their time, although a rebellious time of need.

Sometimes I think we carry the most memorable parts of God’s story and use those passages as guidance while only occasionally remembering the mercy of God.

Maybe not you, sometimes me.

I imagine the remorse of Eve.

I can see her standing there trying to undo her mistake. I envision Adam hearing her out, she just wanted to help them be prepared…

If God gave us all of these things in this environment, surely it’s okay if we “ask for help” in the places we need, all of this is new, we need a way to go forward, the future, the present, the what on earth are we expected to do next?

Surely, it was okay to be as wise as God, she must’ve decided.

God asks “Why?”.

He then unveils the consequences of their questioning of knowing “just enough” and that knowing being enough, being His plan.

Then we learn of Eve being named, a beautifully significant name. And we read of God’s response to the couple covered in fig leaves,

Lovingly responding with provision.

“He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living. And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭11‬, ‭20‬-‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I had been dwelling on this passage for a few days when I paused in front of the ancient tree. I thought how odd it must seem that I find its barrenness so compelling.

This tree with nothing but age and no evidence of fruit still exists to remind me of purpose, of the beauty of acceptance of what lingers and what fades, what can be acknowledged as contributing to decline, what might cause shame in light of decisions made and how despite of and because of every bit, still I’m met with grace.

And I’m clothed with God’s love, a softly wrapped tapestry of all my troubles, my questions, his responses, my weaknesses made stronger in their being unhidden, being discovered although desperately hoping they’d go unexposed.

I am found and responded to.

I’m Eve recognizing “some things are not for me to know” and I’m dressed in a more splendid covering than a hurried and shamefully placed fix.

I’m clothed in a robe of redemption.

It’s layered with old scraps of mistakes and shame threaded together so that I remember, with velvety golden threads of rescue, of help, of redirection.

How has God responded to you?

Remember the times you’ve been found, covered and loved.

Held back up gently when you’ve fallen.

“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭63‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Wonderer

contentment, courage, curiousity, hope, memoir, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, worship, writing

“what are mere mortals that you should think about them, human beings that you should care for them?”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭8‬:‭4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Just as clear as if I was there, my imagination created the communion of two friends in awe.

I might have been sipping creamy coffee beside her. She would have offered food. It might have been a cracker spread with butter. It may have been just a sliver of lemon blueberry cake. Maybe nothing to eat, only coffee on her back porch.

My friend and I restfully watching her friend’s love offering, a surprise stop by to clean her backyard.

My friend is journaling after a bout of illness that wanted to linger, wanted desperately to break her heart and her spirit.

She told me that writing was helping.

“Yes, yes, I know.” I thought.

The wonder of a white rooster, a strange and sacred visitor has nudged me assuringly,

It’s time to write simply for writing’s sake, time to let sightings lead to thought again and to simply let thoughts become words.

Twice on the way to the country, a cup balanced on the steel railing under the overpass has caught my eye. A cup marked “Big Gulp” and almost full of some sort of dark cola.

I wondered how long it might remain a fixture to curious commuters like me. Would the wind or the over time passing of cars knock it over? Perhaps a big rig would cause the bridge to slightly shake and the motion might vibrate the railing.

Who left the cup there?

Were they walking and someone came along and opened the passenger door? Were they holding a sign and what was their story?

These are the directions my thoughts take me.

Strange?

I choose to call them sacred.

Wonder, I believe, is worship’s closest kin.

Pauses to think about the wonder of being open to wondering.

Back to rooster, a white one. I didn’t know white roosters existed.

My friend and her friend were reminiscing about a man who passed away too soon.

The white rooster appeared. They were surprised but, then not at all.

I walked outside one morning last week. I had noticed the unveiling of day, the distant ribbons of pink.

I nudged the dog and we stepped onto the cool damp grass. I pointed my phone in all sorts of angles then just let it rest in my palm as I watched the pink sky shift and fade.

Trying to capture the full measure of this sky, of beauty, of God’s greatness is too impossible for me, I decided.

Me, in pajamas, disheveled and maybe a hint apathetic, a seeker of grandeur, of sovereignty in my vicinity.

Called closer by the pink I’d never fully capture.

Beauty is never an accident.

Wonder never a waste.

God is everywhere. Allow yourself to notice and keep noticing.

Note to self,

Return to wonder influenced writing rather than writing for notice. It may take a minute. Take your time.

Come What May

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, love, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing
The Second Blooms

I’ve been looking over at the second trio of orchid blooms. I never expected it, I expected the failure that often comes with my orchids.

I shift the pot the plant is in, turning it away from the window. I wonder if the cold air from the vent is the reason the branch becomes more bent like it’s struggling no matter the pot’s position.

One evening I walked in the heavy humidity. Told myself give thirty minutes to intentional movement and maybe add some motivational listening.

I tried two podcasts. One was way too chipper, the other too chatty.

I decided to walk quietly.

I remembered words I heard earlier, a suggestion for focused prayer with a question.

So, I asked it.

“God, what is this season that I am currently in?”

I’ll tell you, I was barely three steps farther along and the answer came with no haggling or hindrance.

“Acceptance…This season is a season of acceptance for you.”

Waiting For Me

I walked on and remembered several days ago as I walked around the house, doing nothing and yet thinking about doing everything. “Malaise” comes to mind to describe it labeling myself lazy but what if

I’m just takin’ it easy, letting things rest?

Thoughts of my latest artwork, thoughts of the completed pieces leaning like sacred treasures against the wall in my tiny little “art room”.

I felt the affirmation rise up in my soul, the conviction to continue anyway.

“Come what may.” I told myself and then very quietly carried on with my “grandma day”.

Just a couple of hours later, an email was noticed. The word “beautiful” caused me slow.

“Your work is beautiful.” the sender said, “we’d like to feature you.”

Only a week or so prior, I’d sent a submission to be a featured artist in “What Women Create” a quarterly publication for artists, a stunning magazine with rich colors and pages weighted heavily.

I told only a couple of people and I never expressed my joy, only my surprise.

Coming Soon

“Come what may.” I’d told myself earlier, an expression of settledness in what might happen one way or the other.

I walked on that recent evening and thought about acceptance and began to see why God may have spoken this quality as the one I must understand more clearly in this, my season.

I wondered if I accept the disappointments in my life as sort of “Oh sure, it’s always this way” acceptance and I continue on in that way of expectancy.

More comfortable accepting defeat or delay and treating good things that come my way as

A surprise or a fluke?

When I look back over my life, specifically as a writer and an artist and one who shares both, I have to be honest with myself.

I’m joyous over a ribbon that’s labeled “Best in Show”, over words that describe my artwork as “beautiful” and over kind and loving expressions to me about me and my art.

Still, I often don’t truly believe those blessings were chosen for me. I somehow convince myself it was some sort of accident.

Awareness is the first step towards new thinking, acknowledgement is the key to open those doors widely waiting and questioning why I’ve yet to enter in.

This may not make sense to you.

You may be one who is thrilled by the things you worked hard to complete or compete for actually coming true.

Or maybe you do understand and if so, I share these rambling thoughts and this realization for you.

Do you expect struggle?

Do you anticipate things not coming together?

Do you only half-heartedly commit because not “getting in” feels better than being excluded.

Every success begins with a decision and that decision is more than just trying, it is the decision to believe God has good things for you.

Not only are there good things for us; but, God actually planned them in advance (and is patiently waiting for our acceptance?).

It all comes together

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”
‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Why do we “accept the bad with the good” more than we believe that in reverse? Or let my mama’s expression, “It’s all in it, Lisa.” be a bandaid over a hurt instead of a healing balm?

My recent collection of paintings, “Not Yet Seen” have resonated for many, but I almost didn’t paint them. I told myself “I love them but they’re different for me, no one has seen this type work from me, so many other artists already do this, etc.”

(Available here: https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/art )

The woeful voice in my head, “If I release these and none of them sell, I’ll be disappointed again, I’ll need to acknowledge they weren’t as special as I thought.”

But, I painted twelve, not eleven as first planned and now there are just six remaining.

“I’m so happy I followed my heart.” I told the gallery owner. She answered, “Me too.”

Maybe the seesaw of good and bad and the acceptance of both with equal energy amounts to just how well we “follow our hearts”

And that our hearts most importantly of all, be guarded by love, the love of God and acceptance of that love for us above all else.

my morning corner

“So above all, guard the affections of your heart, for they affect all that you are. Pay attention to the welfare of your innermost being, for from there flows the wellspring of life.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭4‬:‭23‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Every morning I sit in the soft chair in the corner embraced by artwork on the wall behind me.

Often, I rise to begin my day, turn and pause and although there is an array of canvas and paper and color, my eyes land on love and I carry that all day.

Accepting more as truth every moment just how immensely God loves me.

Most importantly, accepting that more than any other thing, any doubt, any denial, any thing at all that will likely come my way today and tomorrow to detour me.

I’ll accept the better.

“Come what may.” I shall say

and when good comes I’ll believe it as truth, I will claim and accept the better.

Always hope,

Lisa (Anne)

Curiosity

Abuse Survivor, aging, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Old House and Fallen Oak

A beautiful oak ushered me on, a canopy over the country road. I wanted to slow.  I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before or why it comforted me so.

Curiosity is a cousin to wonder. A call to examine whatever captivates or corners you, an invitation, a leaning in with inquisition. 

Even fascination.

What if we could be curious not over only beautiful things, but the bitter things too? 

Curious over pain, over unpreparedness for hurt, over horrible things that shouldn’t have happened to us? 

What if we accept that understanding may or may not ever come fully? 

If we’d consider the possibility that curiosity is the entry into a continuum that initiates and begins a relationship with healing. 

We may be the catalysts for our very own, deeply personal healing. 

And if we will invite curiosity, we’ll begin a new search, one with maturity.

We may be able to see every perspective, not just our own. 

We may be able to see through the eyes of the others involved, how pain of their own unintentionally resulted in ours. 

We may, most importantly, stop berating ourselves why and decide,

Okay, now I see sort of why and I believe I’ll move on to “what now?”

And for the unexplainable horrible things? 

Perhaps, we could consider embracing them rather than stubbornly and with great force, doing our best to erase them, the unerasable wounds. 

Because as we embrace our hurt, we at last find we are worthy of being embraced by ourselves.

Every hard and wonderful thing can become embraceable rather than erased.

I drove on down the pretty morning road to approach the old white weathered house on the curve, the one I love to imagine made new.

The one flanked by a massive tree trunk and all its dying limbs now gray and fading away. 

Why one oak thrives and the other got uprooted and thrown to the ground,

No way to know. No way at all. 

Only to be curiously aware and to live with deep longing, a longing that is always known even if it lingers long. 

“You know what I long for, Lord; you hear my every sigh.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭38‬:‭9‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Embrace all your longings to know. Be curious and thrive.

Care and Hope

aging, Art, confidence, contentment, creativity, curiousity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Who wakes up wondering if the orchid will bloom, if the method used to “prop it up” was helpful or a mistake?

These are the things I think.

These are to me, metaphors of a life of faith. Ridiculous, even to me, I watched the orchid and giddily followed its change.

The blooms protected in the plump pod, every afternoon becoming more robust.

Then the color changed where the stem met the pod. It changed from pristine to a color that looked like an old healing bruise, purple and brown all puddled together.

Ugly.

That’s when I intervened.

I found a thin velvet ribbon used to hold my worn out book together.

I carefully wrapped the ribbon around the wooden stake and I eased it gently, the stem that was leaning. I wrapped the ribbon loosely and fastened it all together.

Then I wondered, was the pressure gonna choke the nutrients that would help it grow?

Had I done too much?

Was my attempt to control too much pressure on the branch?

Were my intentions to help it thrive instead stunting its growth, choking its ability to freely grow?

“My orchid’s blooming!” I announced to my daughter.

“Okay.”, she responded.

And that’s okay. The growth seems only meant for me.

And maybe all the propping up and hoping for blooming after very long hoping to come true, to not analyze all the failed attempts, to half-hearted efforts and the decisions that “growing” is not meant for you, is best met by tender care and waiting.

Acceptance.

Watering carefully so as not to drown the leaves, shifting the pot to share equally the sun and most importantly as my aunt would say

“Tell it good morning and just leave it alone. It will live best this way.” Aunt Boo

Funny how we grow best with just a very little help, we grow best on our own with support we know we can count on and know it won’t come like criticism, won’t stunt our growth, kill our hopes or

spread our secret fears of withering in a way that leads to the death of them.

Because it comes from the deep wells of us, not outsiders.

How do we grow?

We grow like the orchid moved from the corner six months ago to live beside me, roots untangled like fragile treasures and given a new home, a pot with ample place to spread and grow.

And the awareness that there are watchers, quietly excited to see us bloom, not wither.

To see us not give up on what’s been gently propped up yet again by grace and by the invisible nutrient, most important of all,

Hope.

There are six unopened pods reaching toward the light. I may have an even more extravagant orchid, its second birth of blooms, than I ever expected.

I’ll be looking forward, seeing clearly all my past efforts of reviving it were not wasted after all.

Nor have been I.

I’ll be open to being cared for, a little by others but mostly by God and his calling me “treasured” as I understand that me more every moment.

Hope waits for the invitation to grow and I’m the sender of the “come to the party”.

It never gives up.

Gladly accepts the nourishment of my patient embrace and regular care.

Hope leads to love and well,

love never fails.

Always hopes.

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13‬:‭7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Answers in the Night

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, family, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Day 66 of 100 days of art from the margins of my Bible. (An Instagram Creativity Challenge)

“Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭23‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A sketch from long ago met me here today and I lingered for a moment and then happy to see I’d not added pen, erased it. I didn’t need the reminder, I decided, of how I’d chronicled hopelessness.

So, I added a tall figure, my favorite blues and then reread the verse. Alongside her there’s a figure walking away. Maybe representing a shadow of who I was. We all have shadow selves, they’re hateful reminders.

I suppose I’m so vulnerable here only because as I’ve said many times before…

God gives me thoughts and words and I simply decide to share them thinking someone else may need them to.

I don’t know what you lean toward hopelessness over, what you’re struggling with or waiting for to see as the benefit of not losing hope.

I just know the things we hope for are incomparable to the things we have likely already seen and known as evidence of our hope and that there is so much more to come.

God woke me with another verse. I went to bed a little uncertain of outcomes and to be honest a little angry with myself over something small.

Sometime before dawn, I had a dream about a painting covered in small pieces of paper that were no longer folded…but, open.

And a verse…

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Reminding me of the source of our hope and all the hope meant for us if we’d only open our eyes, look up, look around…hope being revealed.

So, today…always hope, maybe in a different way, one more aligned with His Spirit within, not “without” you in circumstances, people or things.

You are loved. Lift up your eyes. I will too.

He Knows

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, fear, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, testimony, traumatriggers, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

I was hoping for yes and the answer came as no.

I told God I was disappointed and He answered, “I know.”

Not like a sound, not a breath of breeze across my cheek or the gift of a better tangible thing.

No, He answered with a shift in emotions, a soft invitation to acceptance and acknowledgement of my worth according to him and according to newfound and not new at all friends.

I really wanted to be among the thirty or so selected. It was my third year and I’d been hoping the “third time’s a charm” would prove wrong the “bad things in 3’s” old saying.

So, I talked to God and He reminded that hours before I’d thought about the possible what if’s if I was selected.

Things like what if I go and learn my work doesn’t really belong?

What if the evidence of me striving to be seen ends up making me want to hide?

These thoughts later said, “I was helping your heart get ready for rejection. I was hoping to ease you toward acceptance”.

I woke today thinking “return to small things”, become small like a child growing through no effort of their own, become small like the tiny seed that you are that needs nourishment not neglect.

Return to small by not doing so many things, just doing the ones that are just right for you, very well.

I’m smiling because out of the blue, “The Three Bears” makes perfect sense. Goldilocks entered a place she didn’t live. Curiosity led her to open the door. She roamed around exploring every inch and forced herself to fit in spaces too limiting, then places too big and then she found the “just right” spots and she rested.

I’m just as surprised as you may be that I’d be sharing a fairytale about a girl in a home owned by bears.

But, here’s where God is nudging me. To abandon some places and return and reside in others.

What this means is I may be less visible on Instagram.

I’m returning here and leaving Substack for my writing. Yes, I could “live” in both places but again, I feel God saying simplify.

I know this choice is not popular or trendy. Still, my words and those who’ve read them have been here in this space for quite a long time.

I think this is the “just right” fit.

I won’t use AI. It may be just me but I really can see the difference in the words of others and I don’t want mine to not “be me”.

I’m returning to my email sent through my Quiet Confidence Art site and I don’t know if anyone will notice or wish I’d make up my mind. I hope so and I hope not.

I hope to blog more there, specifics about my artwork, what inspires me redemptively.

This morning’s “first thoughts”…

So, if you’ve read this far, you’ve been invited in to the way God woke me this morning. 

To grow, I must return to being small. 

To cooperate with God in the ministry of art, it must be about tending the soil he’s assigned to me and not scattering myself in every place I can be, every open field I see.

To be an observer and a participant in God’s purpose to prosper me I must understand the gift of humility, rather than confuse it with so many other self-defeating mindsets. 

To see Quiet Confidence Art be what God sees, I must cherish the tiny seed of it, I must love it freely and unconditionally. 

I must let my art define and express redemption, hope and peace rather than define the worth of me. 

You most likely will notice the small changes I’m going to make with going back to a more simple email and deciding what edits are needed everywhere else. 

Just know I heard and am listening to “to grow you must become more small”. 

You must do what you do best.

You must stay still, stay quiet, be confident in this as you grow strong in your artistry, not in comparison to everyone else. 

If you follow my art, my ministry therein, you’ll see simplification there too.

If you’d like to follow along, just add your email on my About Page. (Link below).

Quiet Confidence Art

Thanks for being here.

New things are coming, some of them I’ve been neglecting far too long.

In returning and rest is your salvation. In quiet confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15

The Driver

courage, Faith, family, grief, hope, love, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

The winding country road that takes me farther into the country is crowded most early mornings.

I’m driving away from the city, others are driving in. It’s a curvy road, headlights hitting me harshly and I just keep on.

My thumbs find the raised points on the steering wheel and so I just press in and look forward.

A bus or two will typically meet me. Often, I have to wait.

Last week in the cold rain I thought of the driver, the responsibility of safely moving those children from their homes to their schools and back home again.

I thought of the trusting children, stepping aboard and then sitting assuredly.

Christmas causes remembering.

I remembered my mother’s words.

Over a decade ago, the ICU conference room table had my siblings and I flanked by my mama and a doctor.

The doctor explained the mystery of my father’s condition, the possibility and lack of possibility.

The dialogue went longer than I believe was able to be heard. It all ran together muddled and mysterious.

My mother spoke in the moment of an anxious pause.

“Doctors are just practicing…practicing medicine. They don’t know. God is driving this train. Only He knows where it will go. We are just riding.”

I was with most of my family today. I saw the changes in us all.

I felt the feeling that next Christmas will be different.

I thought of my journal notes early this morning.

We don’t know our days and we don’t know exactly our ways. We are just travelers, passengers in a way…we choose to be joyous.

We often are worried. We approach danger. We encounter uncertain turns. We stay seated although we’d love to jump off and run. But we know we don’t fully know the way, so it’s best to sit still.

It’s best to remember we are the riders. God is the driver.

Last week, another day on the same country road I found myself behind a slow driver.

I wondered why she might be afraid or maybe just tired.

I did my best not to get close. I wondered where she had been.

This woman, sort of petite and with a posture of steel, driving so slowly I could see her.

I have no idea. I simply decided not to add to her question of how or where she may be going and whether she’d make it at all.

We don’t know the way. We’re passengers in the drivers seat but not really the drivers at all.

He knows the way, we aren’t able on our own.

Secret Things

aging, birthday, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

There’s a verse I love that helps me make sense of both tragedy and unanswered questions…of longings for different.

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever…”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭29‬:‭29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Cooking to Remember

I’m standing in my kitchen remembering a verse I read earlier about “secrets”. A verse about the Lord hearing the cries of his children and also knowing the secret sorrows.

I pulled the big Bible from the shelf.

The one I gave my mama, New King James Version with hardly an underline or turned down corner or bookmark.

I’ve often wondered if she ever opened it or if she just accepted my gift because she knew I needed to give it, a gesture from a daughter hoping to help, to mend, to say something unexpressed.

I looked for the verse and then others I love to compare.

We all carry secret sorrows, longings too long expressed, spoken of so much we’ve exhausted the listeners.

Questions, emotions we cover because we “shouldn’t feel that way after so long or she’s just a dreamer”.

Today, if my mama were here she’d be eighty-six years old. She’s been gone for fifteen years.

I thought to watch the DVD given to us all from the funeral home and then put it back on the shelf.

I can’t really say why. It just felt best.

I have a roast cooking slowly in the oven, green beans very buttery and soon creamy mashed potatoes flavored with mayonnaise.

My husband will wake from overnight working to be met by this gesture.

That’s what I decided felt right on the day of mama’s birth.

That, and not rushing my day but opening again the burgundy large print Bible to the place where the Lord appeared to the amazement of Moses and assured him.

“…For I know their sufferings…” Exodus 3:7 NKJV

Closing the big Bible and deciding to leave it in a place beside me, a slip of paper fell out.

The sweetest thing, a little Sunday School coupon filled out by my daughter.

She’d printed the words and her name and then scratched both out to change her writing to cursive. 😊

It was a note telling me that along with other chores, she would “wash the dishes to honor God and me”.

And I began to feel the truth of being seen by her, the tender recollection of days as a mama that were both tired and trying.

They say the things we long for most that begin very early are

To be seen

To be soothed

To be secure.

Where do you feel you’re lacking? What is the secret ache you’re carrying?

What hurt needs soothing?

God sees you.

God offers a healing balm.

For me it was a note from my daughter that my mama kept tucked away,

the realization that my daughter’s a mama with just as kind and observant a daughter of her own.

Don’t look for answers, just know you are fully known and wait tender hearted and at rest for the evidences of love that will catch you by surprise.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

Always

Remember, love lives on.

Under God’s Heaven

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“Should I do more?” I asked myself and then my husband.

I turned onto the road to my home and saw a clump of something ahead on the side of the road.

A figure, not a pile of wood, I realized as I got closer.

A young woman with hair the same color as mine, dressed in flannel with black and red and sitting staring straight ahead, her knees drawn into her chest.

In front of our home is a wide empty field with freely growing trees once cut down and now growing.

The high grass is gold and it bends and straightens with the wind.

This young woman sat still.

I turned and turned off my car in the driveway, deciding I’d check on her.

I’m not proud to tell you I thought about putting my purse safely inside the front door, tucking my keys and phone in my pocket. I thought for a second she might be violent.

I knew she’d been struggling, been seen roaming and had been hospitalized for addiction before.

And I knew and know what addictions can do for someone who needs what they need.

So, I thought she might be aggressive.

Then, thank you Lord, I decided differently. I walked to end of the drive, the wind like ice on my face. Quietly, almost like I was sneaking,

I asked, “Are you okay?” and she picked up her body slowly and she walked away.

Slowly, like a crawl, her steps kept on until I could no longer see her as I peered through the window in our garage.

“Should I do more?” I wondered again. Then decided I would simply pray. I could pray.

Pray without her knowing, without me needing her to know.

Because once, a very, very long time ago, I drove my little blue Celica all the way to Tybee Island in the cold.

I sat on the hard empty shore.

I sat and stared toward the ocean for I don’t know how long.

And then, I suppose emptied of some of my thoughts, my sorrows, my questions…I drove back to my imperfect life, my imperfect home, my still present struggles.

I’m remembering that day today.

Knowing it was bravery for me to sit oddly on the beach alone.

It was resourceful. It was deciding I could in fact, go on.

And no one told me so, other than myself.

I hope I get to see the young woman again. I hope God gives me a way to help her see her I’m pulling for her…

Pulling for her to decide she can go on knowing there is meaning and purpose she has not yet known.

That she may recall moments of feeling purposeless and searching for what seems too far to reach.

Maybe God will make a time for me to tell her, this young woman staring into the open and broken down field.

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬