The window box of my kitchen window was flowerless last year. Summer 2020 had only half-heartedness as far as color, bloom and tradition.
Days of sanitizing my arms, my car, my doorknobs, my conversations in a way, all caused by a virus.
Life was compromised by fear, animosity prompted by that fear and questions that seemed very unfair until I remembered no one knows what to do.
They don’t know either.
Fear is so much like anger.
Down the hall, leaning against the wall are two guitars, both in need of repair, one only worth fixing most likely. I’ll take it to my friend’s shop today.
I believe in its redemption after several hard years of refusing to let it go, but maybe uncertainty over whether it has importance.
This year, the geraniums are planted already.
Bordered by soft white tiny flowers, the vibrant red in the center tells me good morning and good evening as I stand in the kitchen.
Geraniums were my mama’s favorite, not necessarily mine. My daddy played guitar although I have only one vague memory of hearing him.
I only have the stories of others, stories of how he loved it.
How it loved him.
My mama taught me about plants, water early before the sun gets hot and again before it goes to bed.
Commitment leads to beauty.
I’m close to my parents long passed away because I plant red geraniums and I keep a guitar next to a nightstand.
It’s a weak substitution for conversations we never had, for reconciliation and resolution of hurts I may have caused them and they caused me.
Still, it feels perfect, the comfort of a red geranium and a silent guitar.
I’ve had chances to use the word “imperfect” as a description of my parenting with my children.
It feels like a balm to be able to tell them what they already know.
I pray that’s the way they see it, a gesture unlike stuff or sacrifice of sleep or even monetary indulgences.
I pray they’ve seen my heart quite a lot and enough.
The way I see the heart of my mama in my window box geraniums and in a quietly resting guitar down the hall.
It feels like honor. It feels like they are near, like peace. I embrace it.
“Dedicate your children to God and point them in the way that they should go, and the values they’ve learned from you will be with them for life.” Proverbs 22:6 TPT
Early morning Tennessee rain has changed to an aura of grey as we move towards another state.
Yesterday’s drive was different, big city construction on roads and a sense oh how and when will the traffic ease.
But, we made it and were welcomed by the quaint little house in the city known for music.
We didn’t venture towards the fame. We had quesadillas seated under walls with screens of baseball games.
And talked.
This morning the interstate is a soft ribbon through a border of trees leading us towards an arbor of even more.
I’ve just turned to notice horses in a field and a newly plowed place for seeds.
I told my son how I love how he loves good music.
Serenaded together, we are.
The Labrador door is sleeping well.
“We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it!” Ephesians 2:10 TPT
Last night, we turned in early. Me earliest, allowing my son his own time. I paused a podcast at the place of it becoming annoying chatter. I closed my eyes and prayed myself to sleep as I heard the jet it seemed very close overhead.
I thought of flying. I thought of the comfort I felt and I slept.
Thinking I believe God’s promises. I believe the writers of the promises they saw come true too.
I believe God knew I’d be traveling across the country with my son and his dog and I believe He knew there’d be an Air BnB an exit away from the Nashville airport.
And that I wouldn’t hear the airplane until I’d finished praying.
The space was filled with exquisite ideas for design, paintings covered every wall. Artisan made coffee tables and rich leather chairs draped in soft throws over the arms. I arrived with art as a prospective newly represented artist and departed with my paintings and a tiny bit of hope.
Big hopes were thwarted.
A happy voice greeted me and then asked to hear “my artist” story and then I heard hers. She loves working with graphite, she told me, and practices in portraiture. Her iPad with the shattered screen was her gallery that day.
With every sketch or painting, she asked. “Do you see where this went wrong, do you see the error?”
Then she told me. One watercolor she’d entered into an exhibit was of elephants, a mother and baby.
I was drawn to the painting and she explained she’d given it to her mother. As she explained her technique, again telling me where she botched the color and had to fix it and then decided to let the mistake of the pale blue remain, I was captivated by the wrinkles.
I told her so, the detail in the trunks, the layering of pencil and color, the beautiful wrinkles were perfect, touchable.
Last week, I prepared for an interview. I arranged myself and my laptop in a corner and having curled my hair and found a blouse with bright color, I turned my phone to selfie mode to get a glimpse of how I’d be appearing on screen.
I’m horrible at selfies. Do you smile? Do you pretend you don’t know you’re taking your own photo? Do you look at the ceiling? What’s that angle that’s said to be becoming?
I stared at the several shots. I hurried to the closet to change from one blouse to others.
The neckline of the first one accentuated the crepes in the stretchy place on my neck. It was unavoidable and too late to be concerned, too evident to be remedied.
The wrinkles could not be erased.
I sat and prayed and there was peace in my expression, peace with the production manager, the interview and in my responses to kind and unexpected questions.
God was with me.
“You formed my innermost being, shaping my delicate inside and my intricate outside, and wove them all together in my mother’s womb. I thank you, God, for making me so mysteriously complex! Everything you do is marvelously breathtaking. It simply amazes me to think about it! How thoroughly you know me, Lord!” Psalms 139:13-14 TPT
I thought of the elephant artist, the way she discounted the work her hands created.
I wondered if God felt that way. If God sees and saw me despising my appearance, expressing self-hatred over my weight, my sparse eyelashes, the intricate texture on the place where my necklace rests.
The necklace that has a small gold cross, the one a tiny girl reaches for to say, “I love your necklace, Grandma,
I love your cross.”
The magnolia leaves my daughter uses for decor will soon be replaced.
The verdant green is drying to a darker tone. The underside is curling and the veins are more evident, magnolia leave wrinkles now.
But, still a regal sort of beauty, a strength as a table display.
I’ve returned to the practice of the “Pause” app after growing bored with it.
I was required to start over because of a new phone. The old phone charted my listening and I had listened over 700 minutes.
As of yesterday, I’m at 11.
I listened again and the words of the prayer are now resonating new and different.
“I was created for union with you.” The Pause app prayer
God, my creator longs to be united with me, with us.
United in thought, in decision, in praying and in listening, God waits so close he could reach out His hand to mine, possibly soothe the wrinkles that now cover my hands, the hands of an artist, a creative who gets carried away by color and ideas.
The complexity of me, He knows completely.
Says keep learning, keep learning and discovering you according to Me.
The beauty and value of wrinkles, a display of me in you and you with me.
Heavenly Father, thank you for mornings and quiet rediscovering of you. You are with me. You spare me from harm. You give me courage. You calm me when I notice and you strengthen me when I feel belittled or unable. You’re the lifter of my head and the lover of my soul. You give me songs to celebrate my growing. When I feel cornered, you join me in that dimly lit place, you tell me “I am here.”
The interview went well. There was talk of art and there was talk of God.
A song stayed with me that afternoon.
Oh! Christ be magnified Let His praise arise Christ be magnified in me Oh! Christ be magnified From the altar of my life Christ be magnified in me
This tiny bird is a keepsake from my daughter’s pre-wedding weekend. A small shop in the mountains filled with cute trendy things and I chose a bird as small as the cup of my palm.
A sparrow danced on the porch yesterday. Instead of hurrying my granddaughter outside, I watched through the window as it watched me. It rested on the ledge, turned to face me, and then flew away.
As if to say, remember.
You are seen and known.
You are cared for fully.
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 ESV
Today, my devotional included this verse. It’s a verse you might see on a greeting card, a coffee mug or framed words written in pretty black flowing letters.
It occurred to me, not sure why not before.
God is not small at all.
His voice is mighty.
It calms me and calls me.
It protects me with warnings.
It soothes me with song.
God’s rejoicing over me may cause me to think of beautiful birds.
But, God is not that small at all.
Nor is His presence, love and power.
I pray you remember with me.
God is singing over us and His voice overpowers all other songs, all other voices that threaten or sing worrisome songs.
Look up. Notice God.
He is with you.
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” 2 Corinthians 3:17 ESV
“Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble.” Psalm 107:2
The spaces I created for newsletter and blog share the word “redemption”. The idea was to share the gift of a closeness with God over time and to write honestly about it.
To embrace redemption as my theme, my guide, my breath of life.
re·demp·tion
/rəˈdem(p)SH(ə)n
noun
1. the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.
Last month, and the ones before, I wrote mainly about art. I didn’t write redemption stories. Either I stopped believing in them or I felt I’d shared enough. I wrote and illustrated a book, I shifted my sharing to self-promotion. I was told it’s what I’m supposed to do.
It’s mostly an inside job, this enemy I fear called control.
I still get triggered by the mask. Lately, the shame of my “for now” decision against the vaccine is a causing ugly looks and a sense of judgment from others, all leading to isolation, a less obvious trigger.
If you understand, you understand. Otherwise, it makes no sense why you may think things that are not true.
I dreamt last night of bruises on my arms from being held down. My dream me disguised the bruises, made excuses to others about their cause.
I woke and shook off the thoughts, said to myself that is not true anymore.
Nobody held you tightly in their control, you are safe. You are not controlled by others.
Again, this won’t make sense unless you’ve known it.
Many of us fight an internal battle against control, decisions made for you.
We move closer to wholeness when we know peace comes with making decisions with God, quiet ones on your own.
We trust that tiny voice that’s God saying now you have the strength to speak up for yourself, to know your help is from me most of all, it is where you find rest.
Where your trust becomes unwavering faith.
“Faith over Fear” becomes
“Trust over Dread”.
It is awareness of the much to dread, not a whole lot of looking forward to happy according to all we’re told of our country’s condition.
It sort of feels silly to long for things. Some unexpected illness, sorrow or tragedy may knock on your front door or you’ll hear of another injustice and see the hearts of mankind broken and the trend towards true change a bigger obstacle than before.
This is why I’m building up my trust reservoir.
I’m remembering what never runs out, never says I’ve nothing more, never abandons my tender tired heart in need.
It is God’s love and grace.
I wrote 3 words in my journal today. All are distractions to my connection with God.
Distrust
Dread
Drudgery
Then, I added. “Pay attention to the way you approach life.”
Are you dreading the future? Has your hope been stolen? How is it that you know God and believe in Him, have for a bunch of years; yet, you don’t trust as much anymore?
Are you apathetic, exhausted?
Is it because you can’t be sure what life will be like where you are headed or because you’re afraid you won’t look at all like the person you hoped to be next year.
If you feel (with good reason) it is unlikely life will be any better, it is likely you’re incapacitated by dread.
noun
1. great fear or apprehension
If you have the Bible app, search “dread”. You’ll find God’s conversations with Job, the words of Jesus and other gentle warnings about how it’s not God’s idea for us.
“but whoever listens to me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster.””
Proverbs 1:33 ESV
My granddaughter was teeny tiny when I first sang “Deep and Wide” to her. Her newborn expression was attentive and calm, enthralled.
“Deep and wide
Deep and wide, there’s a fountain flowing deep and wide.”
There is a fountain for us. It won’t dry up, parched by sun or heat.
The river is grace.
It is wide and deep.
It is deep and wide.
Continue and believe,
Trust over dread.
Be attentive to God’s voice in your thoughts.
There’s nothing to fear when we trust God as the maker of our days, the lover of our souls.
Outside the windows, the sunshine called our names.
Barely 10:00 on a Monday morning and I said, “We forgot to say Good Morning.”
I held her up to the window, the baby almost two, and together we said, “Good Morning, God. Thank you.”
Once outside, she ran ahead through the field and picked tiny yellow scattered all over wildflowers.
About the size of her finger, the pinky one, she gave them to me.
And I thought.
I could see myself living this way, no concern over fashion or makeup, no worry over whether I’m dressed according to trend.
How does a woman over 60 dress anyway? One who loves home most of all?
Silly but serious thought…I could live a simple life.
My food, the occasional PB&J and lots of fruit and for breakfast, cheesy scrambled eggs with bacon. Tomatoes and a little lettuce, crackers, Ritz, a splurge.
I am considering the ease of it all.
I could live this way out in the wildflowers under the cloudless blue sky.
I could seek this, I decided, as she beckoned me this morning, “Hurry, hurry!”
Twice I saw the man with the cross. Once on the southern part of town, the busy places, the reckless and impatient drivers, the scurrying about grocery shoppers in the days before Easter Sunday.
Then again downtown, on the northern side, blocks from the pretty shops, the sidewalk strollers, he was at an intersection.
The first time, he walked with the wooden cross, a display of his allegiance. He carried the beams joined together and he’d decorated the center with Easter colored florals. I seem to remember he himself was dressed in a jacket and was intentionally put together in a way that seemed to be his best.
At an intersection, two days later, he stood next to a bicycle. The bike, the big cross and this man.
I’d never seen him before.
I waited at the light and glanced to my left. Waiting as well to cross was a man in shorts, unshaven and gazing down at his work-boot clad feet, a faded backpack slipping down from his shoulder.
I didn’t recognize him either. In my years of homeless work I’d seen many like these two, just not them. I thought of their condition, I assumed mental illness and addiction.
I woke with regret over that supposed reason for their condition, their behavior and decision.
I drove downtown and across town yesterday hoping to see one or both.
I didn’t.
The Book of Mark’s introduction in the back of my Bible tells me that the writer is possibly anonymous, theological experts say he wrote his gospel based on Peter’s teaching. I love the tone in Mark’s words. I’m certain I would have been fixed on the words of Peter preaching too.
I read Mark’s description of John the Baptist and I immediately thought of the man on the bike with the flower adorned cross.
“Now John was clothed with camel’s hair and wore a leather belt around his waist and ate locusts and wild honey. And he preached, saying, “After me comes he who is mightier than I, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie.”Mark 1:6-7 ESV
John the Baptist, the son of Elizabeth, the unborn child who was moved by the presence of Jesus while in his mother’s womb.
It was his purpose to go first and then point to the one others like me should follow.
Maybe the man with the cross and the man crossing the intersection began a conversation as I drove home.
Maybe the assumed “crazy” countenance of the one honoring Jesus that day led to questions and then to answers.
Maybe the one I assumed would speak of Jesus was all wrong, maybe the man without the cross was the giver.
Maybe the man worn and weary, walking alone from somewhere had a story to tell.
Maybe the two shared their affection for Jesus.
Andrew Peterson has a voice of comfort, a call to consider love and understanding in most of his songs. Honestly, he beckons us to understand ourselves and then better understand others.
This song, this morning beckons me to consider the ways I don’t understand Jesus’ love for me and then to decide it’s not for me to understand completely, only to accept and believe it.
“And even in the days when I was young There seemed to be a song beyond the silence The feeling in my bones was much too strong To just deny it. I can’t deny this. I’ve been seized by the power of a great affection Seized by the power of a great affection.” Andrew Peterson
I took time to listen this morning, the song Pandora plays for me often. I remembered telling my first real boss that I chose to work in careers that helped others because of a little girl decision. I remembered being certain that I understood the burdens of other children and as a little girl, I knew I’d be called to help them.
I had no idea back then, that was Jesus calling me tenderly towards today, the notice of other tender hearts, the prayers for people as I see them on the street or downcast in the grocery aisle. The sharing of a book filled with birds for children that closes with the assurance of Jesus.
Not just for children.
I hadn’t thought of that shy little girl that I was for a very long time until I listened.
“Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.” Proverbs 4:23 NLT
Prayer and Patience
On Monday I happened upon this stack of rocks while out walking with my granddaughter.
I asked, “Did your mama do that?” She replied with an answer like a song, “uh-huh!”, a big smile and a tilted nod.
Then she commenced to rebuilding, working to rearrange the balance, to add a small stone to the middle and to substitute new rocks for what her mama had built. Satisfied after a few minutes, she left the rocks, similar but not her mama’s stack. She made a new one.
I thought of the joy of the simple activity, the modeling of what she’d seen and the way her perspective was a little different.
Pure.
Purest intentions, no comparison, not destroying what her mama built, only deciding…hmmm, I think I’ll try.
“The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked. Who really knows how bad it is?” Jeremiah 17:9 NLT
Earlier, I searched for this verse. God had awakened me to consider the condition of my heart, to understand why it’s so important to guard it. Why it is not always beneficial to rely on my thoughts born of an aching or angry heart.
Rather, to trust in the Lord with all of my heart, not to lean on my understanding. (Proverbs 3:5)
A heart that is divided, split up into separate rooms inhabited by fear, anger, doubt, dread, jealousy, strife, bitterness, seemingly innocent suspicion or comparison.
A heart like that can’t bring clarity, doesn’t give God enough space to illuminate it, to defuse the dark.
A deceitful heart is one unchanged by Jesus. A deceitful heart is the heart of human intent, not one guided by the holiness of the invited Holy Spirit in.
The heart unchanged by the belief in and acceptance ofJesus Christ is hard and prone to conspire and conclude negative things.
A deceitful heart is a heart that’s forgotten goodness.
I sat in the Target parking lot eating Chick-Fil-A and noticed the shoppers arriving or leaving.
Two spaces over, a man sat alone. I presumed waiting. I could say he was sullen; but, maybe just settled. Waiting for someone, patient or maybe just not wanting to wear his mask.
A woman with green hair passed in front of me, short like mine but a neon pine green. She was dressed in shorts and nothing matched.
Earlier, the loud boom of speakers shook my car and others as we eased to the place where we’d be given our food. The young man had taken my spot in line and I thought to make his mistake known but thought to let it go.
I heard him remark to the cashier, “A girl like you don’t like tattoos…” and I watched her young face drop with an emotion I can’t name.
Maybe embarrassment or excitement, I can’t say.
My mind is not privy to what the heart of another might believe.
I sat and watched the Target shoppers a minute more, people of different races, different beliefs, different orientations, different longings, different fears, different staunch determinations.
It occurred to me then,
who are we to believe we can change people?
The heart after all is human, human in nature, not intended by God to be so, but bent towards sin.
Today I pray, “Change my heart in the places that are growing dim. Lighten my thoughts, my fears, my speculations. Remind me of your Spirit within. Guard this vessel of mine that before a single beat, you decided would be a preciousplace for you. Because of your great mercy, I say, Amen.
Guard my heart so that it guidesmy thoughtsand responses to those around me.
John 10 ends with a verse of consolation. Following much dispute over the validity or blasphemous behavior of Jesus as well as the loving words He used to explain the purpose God gave him, to be our Good Shepherd, not the hired hand who’d mislead or neglect us. Chapter ends with “the one thing” that is needed, belief.
“And many who were there believed in Jesus.” John 10:42 NLT
The followingis an essay submitted for consideration. It was not accepted. I, because I am me,decide it was too vulnerable, not uplifting enough, grammaticallyerrant or biblically inaccurate. Or, maybe it was meant to be here, maybe rather than trash it from my desktop, someone may feel a little resonancewith these not chosen words.
Continue and Believe
Sunday morning woke me with new content for my story God has been editing. The message, that His thoughts of me are far more important than my own. Recent years of angst over when things will be better again led me to define my emotion and it presented itself as dismay. I searched the dictionary for its definition, and I sat in my morning spot for a minute, both enlightened and ashamed. The meaning of dismay is “a loss of hope”. The accuracy shook me and then I sat and wrote a note to myself, recording the clarity and truth that this certainly did not define me nor describe my present life. I thanked God for the timeliness of the morning message.
I hoped this time I’d believe it past noon.
Timely, because I found my thoughts overtaking me again, revisiting trauma of childhood and of longing to understand. I told myself a lie one morning, prompted by the silliest of reasons. I needed a new printer, some socks and we needed oranges. I stood in the checkout line and gazed into the buggy. I am an artist and I needed the color printer; the other items were trivial. The line was long, forlorn faces glancing my way and I glanced again into the cart. I turned and abandoned the cart in the women’s department, and I walked away. I told myself I hadn’t asked my husband; I should do that before buying.
I left the store and pulled through and got myself the biggest cheeseburger I could and devoured it. I drove clouded by sadness and I allowed my belief to speak. I had left the shopping cart and walked away because I believed,
“You don’t deserve it.” and I let that lie the enemy planted linger for several days. I ached to erase the conclusion that began as a little girl who made certain not to bother her parents and led to a teenager who excluded herself from all possibilities and an adult woman who settled for abusive relationships because, “you don’t deserve a good man.” I found myself step into the foray of a fight to never win the battle against my past and I hated it although it felt so very true. After all the years, I figured out what held me back, the belief that I don’t deserve good.
I am letting the revelation change me now with God’s help.
Not long after the Sunday trip, one miserable evening I drove home from another shopping trip meant to comfort. The heaviness lingered like the thick grey clouds about to erupt into a storm. I paused. I asked myself,
“What does God say you deserve?”
Grace, mercy, love, freedom, peace.
Grace.
What a beautiful question, a breakthrough began! God woke me with new hope the next morning and I woke with the words to a hymn about the name of Jesus being written on my heart, the hope of earth and joy of heaven.
I made note of this day in my journal, listed the things I had been wrongly believing:
You didn’t deserve love as a child, didn’t deserve relationships that didn’t include abuse, don’t deserve now to be finally, all God designed you for. I realized the burdens I carried daily were never meant to be achingly carried alone. I deserve the help of Jesus walking in tandem with me and my woes.
Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. John 15: 4-5 ESV
I sensed Jesus telling me to stop walking all alone, to believe in possibility again. However, to understand I will always strive when I try to be His idea of me on my own. I decided I deserve hope. I deserve joy.
I deserve peace.
Peace, in spite of cultural concerns, fears over our world’s future, anxiety over illness all around me and another that’s heavy, guilt over your own wellness when so many are suffering.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”Matthew 11:29 ESV
Sunday woke me with a word. I lingered in a state of rest I hadn’t experienced in weeks, the sheets soft and the weight of the covers safe, I allowed the thought to sing,
“The mind at rest is peace, the mind at peace is rest.”
I moved through the morning with coffee in hand towards my morning spot. Using my Bible app, I searched and hoped to find the words to make even stronger God’s message to me about being at peace. Was this scripture or just a thought? Either way I knew it was God continuing to connect things for me, like a seamstress following a pattern, scissors cutting away the unnecessary, God is creating a new outfit for me.
The garment he sees me wearing is one that is light and airy, allows the freedom of His love to move through me. My new garment is a pleasure to wear, unrestricted and quiet in color, a confident statement.
This is God’s design for us, a life of rest and peace.
I wonder what your waking thoughts are. I’ve begun to see them as a gift of God’s presence to set the tone of my day. Admittedly, my afternoons are often cluttered. My evening time is either a deep breath to welcome an indulgence of something that comforts or an endeavor to finish a painting or other endeavor I started. Just as I believe I do not deserve good, I often succumb to another lie, the one that tells me at sixty years old, it is too late.
To allow quiet to come is to allow peace. To recognize the constant plot of the enemy to hijack our thoughts is simply smart.
A tranquil heart gives life to the flesh, but envy makes the bones rot. Proverbs 14:30
My Father knows I compare myself to others. He knows this has long been a stronghold of a little girl who grew up poor and afraid and became a woman who compares herself to others in an attempt to dispel the lie that says it will not happen because you don’t deserve it. I now recognize this as untrue.
New ways of thinking are ours to embrace. I hope you will consider when asking yourself what God desires for you, what it is that Your Father has decided you deserve.
Along with redemption, it is love. It is freedom, it is peace.
I treasure my morning meetings. May you find time, sense the Spirit of God in and with you and be renewed as you listen and begin to think in new ways.
May we all linger here a little longer.
May you discover the big lies you’ve told yourself are true of you and may you believe only what is true, only what God says of you.
I found it amazing. I’m hesitant to use “amazing”. I read somewhere the annoyance of the word’s overuse.
But amazing it was and as I think of it now, still is.
Four people gather to pray and worship with music.
Four distinctively different approaches. Women of different ages, different churches, different journeys, different hopes thwarted, different ideas about some things.
No comparison between us, contrast was not our motive.
Together, all ended separate prayers in the name of Jesus.
Reverence, a unique response to each of us. At first, I squirm in my seat wondering if my worship should be more like hers.
Then I listen. I notice the difference, the difference in me.
Reluctant to gather because I’ve found comfort as an introvert lately, but, joined the others telling myself, listen and be willing.
Four people gathered to offer up prayer, listen to songs about the goodness and certainty of God.
Turns were taken, hands extended and raised, heads bowed, hands folded, common ground was shifted until we all were different
and yet sweetly and spiritually the same.
Responsive, no longer reluctant.
We gathered and the air shifted. Burdens were made lighter, shallow breaths became steady, even and deeper.
Together in a room with the Spirit of God.
I think of the differences now, no criticism or condemnation over preference of place or practice.
Four people gathered and God was with us.
“For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” Matthew 18:20 ESV
we run away from our discomfort... but it doesn't leave us. to heal we need to turn around and face it, experience it and once we truly do we are out of it. We heal and we grow.
2 Timothy 1:7-8 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. This blog is about my Christian walk. Join me for the adventure.
Lisa Anne Tindal 