Only Jesus

Art, bravery, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I’ve been trying to remember what prompted me to seek a passage yesterday morning. Monday is a “grandma day” and I rarely open my Bible, only read a few lines of a devotional or sit still in the dim, sipping warm coffee.

I found the favorite passage, the one about the water’s healing properties. I read again the words of Jesus recorded by John and I realized quickly, I’ve read this all wrong for so very long.

The scene is a place called Bethesda. I envision a cool place near water, those who are unwell languishing in shaded areas established like safe but sad waiting rooms.

Throngs of people, maybe some accompanied by friends or family, men and women, I suppose even children who have been enslaved to some sort of malady and have come to immerse themselves in the water of a powerful pool.

One man, paralyzed and lying on what must have been a soiled and worn out mat, had been there for thirty-eight years.

Jesus laid his eyes on him and walked over.

He asked him “Do you want to be healed?” (John 5:6 ESV)

Jesus knew he’d been there a very long time. If I were the disabled man, I wonder what my reaction would have been.

I began to wonder many things about this man yesterday.

Had no one tried to help him into the healing pool?

Was there no friend or family to stop by and check on him, offer to ask the others, “Please let him cut in line, he’s very desperate and he’s losing hope.”?

Or had this man, incapable for almost four decades accepted his fate, decided this is just my lot in life?

Most of Monday, my mind kept going back to this passage. I was certain I’d read it correctly (at last) for a good reason.

My grandchildren were happy yesterday. They’re loving and laid back and my grandson and I eased through the day.

We walked a long way, we found “treasures” and we talked about walking the safe way unless mommy or daddy are here.

We turned toward home instead of the long clay road because I told him, we may be too tired to conquer that hill.

He answered, “This way…okay, G’Ma?”

Almost home, just three curves and a downhill twist, he asked,

“G’ma carry me?” and I anchored him against my chest as he silently laid his cheek near the curve of my shoulder.

I thought of the passage, the one I’d misquoted and misread until that morning.

I’d always thought the disabled man had stepped into the water, that Jesus assisted him.

But, he didn’t.

He rose and walked with no need to be immersed in the crowded pool.

He did as Jesus told him. He stood and walked forward.

Speculation from others came, lots of accusations about the wrong choices on the Sabbath.

The man had no idea who Jesus was, he only knew he tried to walk as instructed and he was walking.

That’s when the two words came standing in my daughter’s kitchen…

“Only Jesus”

I pondered less why the man had to wait so long, why all the others pushed past him selfishly, why no one in his family tried to help him.

(Maybe they did, it’s just not recorded)

I considered this man’s healing unexpectedly and miraculously by Jesus. I read on and noticed what seems to be a serious tone in the voice of Jesus…

“See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” (John 5:14 ESV)

I thought again, “only Jesus”.

Smiled to myself how I’d read this passage without this powerful reminder for so very long.

A reminder that Jesus sees us in ways no one else is capable of,

And he appears.

That what is needed for our healing might be unique and meaningful in a way no human can offer.

Only Jesus.

And so, we can let go the longing for others to see us in the crowd and be attentive, even considerate, aware of our languishing in hurts that linger and threaten to destroy.

To be the ones who help us walk again in our healing.

We can understand that’s not their responsibility.

We can allow ourselves to understand peacefully and with vulnerability see that our only true healer is Jesus…

Only Jesus.

Healing comes when we answer “Yes.” to the question

“Do you want to healed?” (John 5:6b ESV)

Maybe we are aware of all the ways we secretly decide we’re not able, worthy or even reluctant to live a life that’s marked by healing.

We answer God in our prayers just as soon as we rise from our knees with reasons “why not” through our thoughts and our choices.

The man on the mat is so relatable.

“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.”
‭‭John‬ ‭5‬:‭7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Jesus listens and tells him to “Get up.”

I suppose no one had ever suggested such an impossible step,

only Jesus.

We are so intimately known by Jesus. It took such an extraordinary request to cause this man to try what he was certain he could not do. He’d been lying there watching the others get well and had believed…

Healing is for others not me.

Then, he bravely agreed to try.

He tried and he walked away from the mat on the ground. He stood and he walked.

Freely, listening to the suggestion of Jesus.

“Only Jesus”, I pray these two words linger with me in new ways, maybe a sticky note on the dash of my car, a canvas marked and inspired by the realization, new words in the margin of page 890 in my Bible.

You’re welcome to remember it too.

What are you waiting for to rise from your mat and go forward in ways only possible because of only Jesus?

Maybe, like me, you’ve been reading certain stories all wrong,

all along.

Here’s the passage that feels like an invitation to embrace healing (for the first time, again, or differently).

“After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic called Bethesda, which has five roofed colonnades. In these lay a multitude of invalids—blind, lame, and paralyzed.

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. Now that day was the Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to take up your bed.”

But he answered them, “The man who healed me, that man said to me, ‘Take up your bed, and walk.’” They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take up your bed and walk’?”

Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had withdrawn, as there was a crowd in the place.

Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.”
‭‭

John‬ ‭5‬:‭1‬-‭3‬, ‭5‬-‭14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Go in peace.

You are loved. Remember.

Women of Faith

Abuse Survivor, aging, Angels, courage, Faith, family, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

I can’t say why but I was driving home from the country and I began thinking about the Woman at the Well and how she likely led a life met by scorn and then her story led to changed lives in others.

As I often do, I began to use my imagination to wonder about parts of her story unrecorded. Specifically, how was her relationship with other women?

Was she befriended now by them?

Was their befriending sincere?

Lately, I’ve been aching to talk to my mama.

About family, about faith.

Hers.

A thought came as I watched a trio of women, “I don’t think I’ll ever be like them.”

Their voices were strong. Their posture at ease. They were clothed confidently in garments that seemed to be reflective of their personalities.

I wondered, “Could it ever be that true for me, as true as it seems for them?”

Will I always feel like I’m getting it all wrong or worse, maybe I’m not one of those women who is capable of such confidence and joy.

This is the kind of blog post that’ll likely get “care and concern” emojis. Truth is, it’s just me being honest and using this space for expression. 😊

I’ve been thinking about my mama, my aunt, and my grandmother. Neither of these strong women are/were “church ladies”. Maybe they tried and maybe tried again and yet, church attendance and gatherings with other women in the church was not “for them”.

I have my theories as to why although this was never a conversation that occurred.

Things about them, their spouses, their challenges, their mistakes and their losses likely made them very interesting for others whose curiosity and criticism wasn’t so effectively offered as gentle concern.

Instead, judgment or worse, disinterest.

Gossip.

Maybe their “stories” were too well known.

I have this longing for the accounts of certain women in the Bible to be explained in greater detail than they are. Their before and after stories from their perspectives not just the writer of the encounter. In this case, John.

“Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I wonder what the woman from Samaria, the one at the well seeking water in the middle of the day, thought of the “church ladies” of her day. Was the man she was with who was not her husband married to one of them?

See how intriguing this is?

Is this why she went to draw water when no one else ventured out in the heat, the middle of the day?

Was being a “church lady” ever something she aspired to be?

What got her sidetracked into seeking or being caught up in numerous (likely unhealthy) relationships with men?

She’d learned to avoid the glares of the townspeople because of judgment. Accurate, but hurtful.

Had she learned to keep her side of the story to herself? Was it just “too much” for others to hear?

She had no hesitation when she told the disciples and then went into town and told every single person she met, that she’d met Jesus.

And she didn’t have to tell him all the sad and sordid details of her story.

He already knew them. What a strange relief that must’ve been. She met someone who knew everything and still wanted to be kind and engaging without selfish intent.

Her encounter was so intense that she no longer worried who knew or would know every twist and turn and downward spiral her choices had marked her by.

She no longer worried if she “was just too much” for some people because she couldn’t keep the “much” of her experience to herself.

I’d love to time travel and walk alongside this woman. I’d love to ask her if there were obstacles. I’d love to know how she was welcomed by the women, the “church ladies”.

Was she too beautifully restored to let anything else matter? I think so.

She became an evangelist and later a martyr.

If there were battles over what others recalled of her story of before, she must’ve just stepped steadily forward, strengthened by her circle of those made steady because of her. I wonder if there was a whole sort of “club of women with many men” that formed because of her testimony.

And as she remembered that day she left her empty water jug at the well, she helped others step more steadily into faith.

Remembering that all that was needed was to be seen fully, known completely and loved.

There’s something about that private source of hope, faith and love that’s not often in need of being displayed.

I believe this is the truth for the women in my life, the “unchurched” ones. It was a secret flow, a source of strength in them that made certain customs seem less ones of faith and more of requirement to be displayed.

I’m finding myself more and more of this type woman of faith. It’s leading to quiet questions and I believe, in time a peaceful clarity.

I’m beginning to believe I’m meant just to be a quiet woman of strength, strengthening others as they see something of themselves in me.

I’m thinking the woman at the well helped many women in seeing themselves more loved and accepted, more free.

Is there a woman in the Bible you’d love to know personally?

Too many to list for me, these woman of faith compel me curiously.

Shine On

Art, Children, Christmas, Faith, family, hope, painting, Peace, Redemption, wonder

There’s a place on the right as I approach the traffic light on the way home. The road curves and they’ve added an extra blinking one to let you know, you may need to stop.

To the right, a cluster of homes in not very good shape are tucked in a little valley with pathways that became skinny roads like a maze.

Every year as long as I’ve been here, one of the homes is decorated. Colored lights in a row draped around the porch’s flat roof. I smile as I approach. I sort of hope the light’s red so I can pause. I smile.

The homes are mobile and they’re not double, but single in width. They’re trailer homes, floors made from pressed pieces of wood and the walls likely sections of a sort cork, maybe painted a dull green or a muted yellow or beige that was once white.

How do I know?

My first years of motherhood started in a little used trailer we worked to make a home until we moved up and into a bigger one, a double.

I’m not sure I realized it until just this second, the reason I love to see old wooden houses, mobile homes or places that are in need of a little help and yet, they still inhabit joy and they often share it.

There was joy in that little first home of ours, joy in spite of all the other stuff.

This is why I love these bright little places I notice and why I find them so special.

Colored lights on a wooden porch with cement steps, a Frosty or Rudolph in the flower bed, maybe a star barely hanging on to the roof or my favorite, a curtain left open to invite a peek to see their tree.

Even more beautiful, a trio of candles, their glow yellow from age set on a windowsill on purpose for people like me.

I love to see the old and worn out not being forgotten, but loved nevertheless.

So…if you’re out and about, look for these little “lights in the darkness” instead of the fancy LED battery and timer manipulated displays.

Look for the shiny houses, the ones sharing their imperfect display and sharing it in a most joyful way.

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

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.”

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.

“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?).

“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.

“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

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).

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

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