wonder

Seen and Known

Abuse Survivor, aging, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

A couple of weeks ago, a gallery employee commented on what she loved about a painting. She gave a detailed and thoughtful expression of why and I agreed with her, that I loved the same detail in the piece, in the colors.

I thanked her for going a little bit farther than necessary. Rather than just saying, “I like that one or that piece is nice.” she articulated in a way that gave power to the painting, even peace.

I told her I believe that’s a treasure, when a person notices something and expresses in words the evidence that you have been truly “seen and known”.

That’s a true gift to me. Something that sticks.

Just telling someone the truth you’ve observed.

“Angel Girl”

Yesterday, after the most beautiful walk with the music of Andrew Peterson to add to the mellow of me, I paused in the yard. I moved the withered pansies from the statue and I noticed the weathering of the cement, the spots brown from age and the places cracked by icy days or maybe summer heat.

I put the birds together, the dove and the cardinal, thinking stoic and a little unpredictable, a story I kinda love.

A Menagerie

As January invites, there are inventories I’m taking. Quietly considering where this journey should go, art and writing, writing and art.

For the life of me, I can’t bear to let one go.

More importantly, I don’t think God is telling me so.

Instead, I feel a different pull toward a different audience. So far, really just a handful of people who relate to what I feel is courageously honest in my painting and in my essays or posts.

I created an Instagram post to determine “my ideal client”. I asked a couple of questions as a way to go forward.

What would you like to see more of ?

I added photos of each, women/angels, landscapes and abstracts?

And this:

the most valuable question

I left it all there and the algorithm based traffic and responses were a bit of a tiny ripple.

On my walk, I thought about it all. About my tendency to only go just so far in connecting because of fear of not connecting, fear of rejection.

Fear of showing up and showing up prepared and yet, not being seen.

I thought of the wisdom of my children who are keen observers (often honest).

One saying “show up confident” and the other saying “don’t be negative when you talk about your art”.

Thought of the morsels of truth they add to the big barrel of not so true, just always realities of this work, this calling to “offer hope”.

I woke with clarity this morning as the sun gave my window a welcome glow.

I slept well and there was a redemptive arc forming in the story I’ve been telling myself.

I discovered more beauty in the words of others.

Words prompted by my IG question:

“You know what keeps me coming back? Your honesty! I enjoyed our brief talk at the She Speaks conference this summer. You have a very open and transparent way that makes it easy to relate and connect with you! I enjoy seeing the artwork (all different kinds) but I’m not a passionate lover of art. As someone who is struggling to find my own way in my own areas, I can however relate to the highs and lows that you openly share! I followed then out of curiosity about the work which you spoke about, but now I follow because I’ve really enjoyed seeing the winding road that is your journey. It is interesting to see your processes. As well as where the Lord might be moving in you next.”

Other comments were just as kind. An equal mix of people who like the mix of subjects I paint.

Interesting, so very.

The landscapes were referred to as “soulscapes”.

One comment suggested whatever I paint, continue to paint from the soul of me.

A couple more commented on the honesty in my sharing of my honest thoughts stemming from times I hear from God.

So Blue

Yesterday, I saw a friend at church, a fairly new one. We connected and hugged and she paused mid-sentence.

“Your eyes are so blue.” She said sweetly.

I smiled, told her I used to believe that, adding it’s been a while since I loved the blue.

She smiled.

I painted into the hours of dusk. A piece I put to the side, entitled “The Offering” was lacking a story I noticed.

It was dull.

I changed the position and posture of the figure, had her cradle the vase more gently and on a whim, her gown went from ivory to blue.

More confident and still quiet.

Still herself despite the critics or the questions of her own.

Strangely, I’ve never given the name “Quiet Confidence” to a painting.

She may be the one.

And while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he was reclining at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head. There were some who said to themselves indignantly, “Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”

And they scolded her.

For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me.

She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world,

what she has done will be told in memory of her.”
‭‭Mark‬ ‭14‬:‭3‬-‭5‬, ‭7‬-‭9‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Maybe…no, surely that’s a word for us all.

Do confidently what you can. These choices and gifts will be told in memory of you.

Be who you are, fully seen and known.

May it be so.

Continue and believe.

You are so very loved.

Pretty And Strong

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, confidence, courage, eating disorder, family, freedom, grandchildren, jubilee, memoir, Peace, Redemption, self-portrait, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing
The Girl Who Made Me Grandma

I came in the back door after a day in the country with grandbaby boy and barely paused.

I grabbed the dog’s leash and tightened my shoelaces.

There was enough daylight still for a walk.

The Labrador deserved it.

He’d been alone all day.

Later, my husband praised my commitment. He said he admired the way I “keep going”, I guess pursuing wellness.

I begged to differ with him and then rethought that and accepted his compliment.

Then I told him, with a strong tone of certainty,

“I probably won’t change in size very much again. I’ve stayed and will stay the same weight for about three years.”

Then, he replied with some sort of observation about his approving view of me from the rear.

This morning, I had a veggie omelet and a piece of bread toasted, slathered in butter and topped with “Braswell’s red pepper” jelly. (IYKYK)

And I remembered the conversation about my body.

I remembered telling my husband, I mostly just want to be and stay strong.

Breakfast memories popped up.

My grandmother, “Bama” in the kitchen in front of the gas stove, rollers in her hair and dressed in a tiny floral print housecoat.

The grandmother who greeted her oldest granddaughter with

“There’s my big ‘ol girl!”

as I wrapped my arms around her leg and sunk my head into her hip.

I’ve been known to say that her greeting marked me. I suppose in some ways it did and it has.

If I’m honest though, there are other more beautiful imprints.

There was the outside play, the daily long walks on dirt roads to come home to ice water in the aluminum pitcher in the Frigidaire.

There were tiny pancakes with tiny pieces of bacon in the center.

There were games of “Scramble” with a notebook of words created by her and as I grew older, my name in a column next to hers.

My name in her Bible, I didn’t discover until she’d passed on.

And wisdom through words about beauty being internal first and only.

“Pretty is

Is pretty does” Bama

I pray and believe my grandmother will greet me one day…my arms outstretched to hers…

She’ll say,

“There’s my pretty girl!”

And I’ll say

Yes, it’s me.

Pretty and strong.

Yes, it’s me.

Here I am.

I Will Go. I Will Stay.

aging, bravery, Children, confidence, courage, Faith, family, grandchildren, memoir, Redemption, Trust, walking, wisdom, wonder

Yesterday, G’Pa announced to Elizabeth and I that he’d never seen the creek. The land is deep and wide around their home and down in the valley on the edge there’s a pretty little creek. I said “We should go see it” and then quickly G’Pa and I said no. It seemed risky I guess. It’d be a big production to get boots on, be sure the grandbabies could be carried safely and even more to remember exactly how to get there when I’d only been once.

Back then, I was fascinated by its beauty, this secret place worth pursuing.

But, we probably made the best choice, two sixty-something year olds striking out on an adventure with a four and one year old. We’ll go maybe with extra help to guide us soon. It’s not something we should do on our own.

Life has things for us to do, scary and uncertain, maybe little secrets that require bravery.

”Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.“
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭41‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

God woke me up with the thought of His Sovereignty, the reality that wherever I am,

He is too.

I put the thoughts together before daylight, remembering the idea of second children’s book about fear that I had kinda shelved away. It seems the idea might be calling my name to remember and revisit it.

With these new thoughts about walking into obscure and beautiful places even if scary:

I will go if you go.
Through the brittle winter field

And into the forest
Up the hill and down the

hill to the slippery spaces
and up the hill again

Around the corner and careful

don’t step on the vines

with sticky sharp thorns and then the water round the corner will appear

The bubbling shiny place

You made it!
I told you.

I will go with you and
I will stay.

I will go.

I will go if you go.

I will stay.

Christmas Comes

aging, Children, Christmas, contentment, courage, Faith, family, Forgiveness, grace, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

When December came, I willed myself to move toward Christmas in a more hopeful way. I’d read somewhere to look for “enjoyment” not to pursue perfection in my home, my gatherings, my notice of life all around me.

I have had one particular Christmas that I tended to decide my uncertain feelings about Christmas because of.

This year, God put an expression in my heart and as the days of December unfolded, it became my solid truth, my olive branch of peace to receive and to offer up.

“It won’t always be this way.”

This is the truth, friends.

Meaning that Christmas as a six or seven year old that was scary and scarring is long past.

All of us lined up in a row, the question my mama asked, “Who do you want to be with, me or your daddy?” The tiny little brown station wagon loaded down and pointed in the direction of leaving never left, nor did any of us kids. It was not my mama’s finest moment, it wasn’t mine either. But, oh the moments and the Christmases since. They’ve been a mixture for sure of ugly and pretty. Still, hope has never left me, has always come ‘round again.

I don’t have to fight for Christmas to be good, I don’t have to prepare for sadness, despair or even illness simply because those things have happened at Christmases before.

Christmas days in hospitals or bedside with illness or in bed yourself may have happened and may again.

Christmas next year won’t be exactly as it was a few days ago. It may be sweeter, there may be hardship, the people who are present and the times we are together may require acceptance and change.

This is life. Life is a good gift.

I’m missing so many moments as far as having “moment” photos, the goal.

Moments like standing next to my worshipful daughter singing “Joy to the World” in candlelight. Like the room filled with people as my brother offered prayer. Like the faces of all the babies when the paper was ripped and spread all over the room. Like the expressions of those I love in conversations about life now and in the coming year and although the word wasn’t spoken…evidence of redemption.

Those were moments not fit for pointing a camera at, those were moments stored up in hearts.

Hearts that are reservoirs of hope.

Mine is full. I pray theirs is too.

And you. Living in light of it all.

I wasn’t sure how Christmas would be this year. Nor can I be sure of the next.

Only certain that hope will come near again.

Change The Wording

Abuse Survivor, aging, anxiety, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
a prayer

Yesterday morning, Christmas morning all misty and mellow, I walked early with Colt, the Labrador.

It was early, phone in my pocket and no pods in my ears, the world was whispering like sounds from a distant violin.

It was not noisy.

The birds sang, the trees ready for rain, rustled.

As a walk often does I was walking to unravel my thoughts, to shake off the embrace that had decided to grab hold, the worry for no reason, the sneaky attempts of changing my hope to dread.

The ways we walk, have walked in our lives…some of us, for most of our days left deep and muddy almost cavernous ruts we gotta decide to step up high and get on a new, undamaged by weather road.

I consider myself late to this learning.

That’s okay.

There’s grace for late in life learning and even more than that, there’s glorious celebration.

A few days ago, it occurred to me that I so less often “thank Jesus for helping me” than I do plead and moan consistently, “Jesus, help me. Jesus, help me!”

And I sort of quietly decided with tears to simply change the wording.

“Thank you, Jesus, for helping me.”

and so I said this on my walk along with the acceptance of “I am weak, you are strong”.

I don’t want to speak too soon (as I’m prone to do) but there’s a change that’s been coming in me and for me and I’m welcoming the newness of it.

The life lived from an embrace of the truth of being RESCUED.

“Jesus, thank you for helping me.”

This prayer can be yours too.

On Self and Suffering

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, family, fear, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, testimony, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wonder, writing

December always makes me remember Merle Haggard, the hope of makin’ it until then and the days being brighter days once we’re there.

Yesterday, I thought of six words that I could call my December memoir.

Not a finish

A clearer path

There are places in the country I won’t walk with the babies.

Surprising, I guess because I’m sort of a rebel when it comes to strikin’ out on a walk.

“I’ll figure it out!” I’m known to announce.

I have memories of the year I lived with my mama and daddy, a period of seeking wellness from self-destructive eating.

I can’t tell you how many miles it was…

the circle of dirt road that began at my grandma’s house, through the peanut field, past the creek, up the hill, past the “shack”, past the farmer who wanted to date me’s house, through the weeds, around the curve to the lake where the rough people lived and past my Aunt Marie’s to be back home again.

It was way too far for a woman, young and with a reputation, to walk alone.

I was thin. I was lost. I was lonely.

Thinking back, it wasn’t health I was seeking, it was simply more self-destruction.

Trying to have my life match what I decided it was worth…not much at all.

That’s a hard pill to acknowledge. This meandering search I’ve sought, mostly taught, some stubbornly chosen.

“Self-destruction is an addictive behavior.” Rita Springer

I heard this truth last week.

And I’m kinda blown away by the resonance.

The truth that it’s not one specific or stereotypically thought addictive behavior that is addictive. Instead, it’s any and all of our choices and responses to life and our people and places in life, that lead us to this well worn and not so safe path.

I made a list. I love a list.

A list with words that may either seem too normal, not destructive or may seem like they aren’t choices that can become addictive, intentional choices we continue that are self-destructive.

I suppose I should soften this…no one wants to be told they are “self-destructive”.

How about behaviors that aren’t good for our bodies and souls?

Choices that don’t cherish the truth that our bodies are the temples of the Holy Spirit. Paul doesn’t sound too positive when he warns us.

But, have you ever noticed that he begins and ends his letters with a prayer that we’d all have the knowledge of God’s grace, His love?

“Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.”
‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭16‬-‭17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Not so soft a warning, I thought.

So, back to the list, maybe an inventory year end of subtle and not so subtle self-destructive behaviors.

I chose a different header, kinder wording.

I chose

“What is NOT giving you quiet confidence and strength in God, in your choices these days?”

Accepting unkindness (abuse) in relationships

Taking on too much to please others and thereby determine your worth

Bad health, diet habits

Too much looking for good on a phone

Procrastination in regards to God’s nudges

Habitual time with God without reverence, sort of rote

Junk TV that takes my focus on God in me and puts it on the crazy or interesting lives of others (I love reality TV)

Clutter (mental and otherwise)

How are these self-destructive? Mostly because they have a tendency of putting God’s voice on “mute” in my daily life.

So, how do we move through our days, through December with a hope for the coming days.

I’m learning there’s one more important thing.

See suffering as fellowship with Jesus.

You may have heard all things are worked for good and you might have actually known people who say so.

But, do we really believe that they believe this?

Paul wrote about this fellowship.

“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,”


‭‭Philippians‬ ‭3‬:‭8‬-‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Suffering has its gift.

Faith not in ourselves but in Christ

Sharing in His sufferings.

Becoming Christlike, a privilege really, not hardship (?)

That’s hard, not easy.

I’m not great at this. I avoid suffering with a well learned and established skill to be hyper vigilant.

Yesterday, baby Henry wanted to walk, not be strolled. He burst forward on toddling feet in socks, not shoes on the rocky path.

In the distance, a black thread laced across the path. I stood and watched, turned the baby back towards home and turned him back again. He was intent on forward, moving steady down the path.

The dog didn’t bark. The black snake made its way into the brush.

And we lingered and walked slowly in a rhythm of walking away from home and then turning back to home.

There was no need to hurry.

No need to fear. We were safe.

God was near.

There was no fight to be fought, nothing but us and the breeze and wide blue sky above us, God enveloping us and our faith in His ever present love.

“When we wrap the language of war around our suffering, it becomes a battle to be won rather than our experiences to be processed.” Katherine Wolf

I’ve never been good at fighting, only at sullenly retreating.

We weren’t made to fight, only to be faithful.

“For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”

But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.

Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭15‬-‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In quiet confidence is your strength.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

The 23rd Psalm

Abuse Survivor, Children, courage, Faith, family, fear, grandchildren, hope, mercy, praise, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder, worship, writing

The psalm became a reset a few years ago, a meditation as I was “put down” by a spell of vertigo.

Later, with the first grandchild, it was an upstairs string of thought, naptime sway of a winding down, a comfort through lullaby.

Our church just finished a series on the passage. It was both sweet and informative.

It was pure. It was and is still comforting.

Yesterday, I walked the “granddog” in the quiet daytime streets of my neighborhood. I sang out loud as we strolled.

Thought I’d record the 23rd Psalm I’ve been singing to babies and dogs and singing “over me”.

Psalm 23 as a Lullaby

The Lord is my shepherd. No want shall I know.

He leads me to quiet, still watered places I go.

He won’t let me stumble. He won’t let me fall. He’s with me. He’s with me. No matter at all.

He points me to pastures to lie down and rest.

He guides me to places that He knows are best.

And whenever the meanness tries to come near, He stays close beside me. He won’t let me fear.

He sees me through shadows that remind me of death.

He feeds me and keeps me when cruelty looms here.

He watches me struggle and yet never leaves.

He’s with me. He’s with me, no matter at all.

Whenever, forever, wherever

No matter at all.

The Lord is my shepherd, no want shall I know.

Psalm 23 on repeat, in times of sickness, fear, worship walks and with babies, the lullaby of my life.

Go In Peace

Abuse Survivor, Art, artist calendar, bravery, calendar, courage, creativity, Faith, Peace, Redemption, wonder

“I sense God bringing a truth to me, a reminder or a nudge to consider the value of just a few words, often the words of Jesus and I just decide to share them, thinking someone else may need them too.”

This is my response when someone tells me my honest reflection or interpretation of scripture was timely for them.

Often, it is surprising.

“Go in Peace” feels like a gentle well wish, a suggestion or saying.

But it’s more like a commandment.

You came, you believed, you sought healing, you were healed.

You are healed.

Go in Peace.

To purchase this calendar dedicated to my granddaughters and every woman created to live freely in the embrace of God, to go in peace, click the link below.

Purchase here

Expectant

Abuse Survivor, aging, Angels, Art, bravery, courage, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing
Hope

I barely missed a couple of deer. Now that morning is coming sooner, I was less observant, less cautious.

Less expectant.

The couple ran together to my left in the harvested corn field. Flying through the air it seemed.

Yes, like dusty brown doves, not deer.

When the timing was right, they danced over the road in front of me just as the curve turned right to my daughter’s home.

Then, I watched expectantly for them to run back the other way, to cross the lane to the more wooded field.

But, they didn’t. They must’ve decided to continue to a better place, maybe one that felt safer.

Possibly down in the corner, the valley near the creek.

The spot I’ve set my gaze on from the kitchen window.

The place where just one tall tree in the mix of many beckons me to be still.

To notice the vivid gold.

When I understand the meaning of hope without knowing, simply hoping.

I can live expectantly.

Not expectant of celebratory good nor of sorrowful negative or even tragic.

I can understand hope as being a promise that will be kept because the Spirit of God knows.

Knows my longings. Knows me.

Knows all.

“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.

For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.

And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called

according to his purpose.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭8‬:‭25‬-‭28‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Often, I’ve remembered the words that instruct, that compel me to believe that no matter what, God brings good from all circumstances.

I’m afraid I’ve embraced this as a sort of consolation prize, a fourth runner up in a pageant who gets no crown or announcement.

A decision that all is always well for others, just not for me.

But, that’s so very distant from the truth.

The truth is, I just do not know it all, all the secrets I’ve been shielded from, all the recalculating of my directions and choices simply because that accurate and oh so loving Spirit inside me

Has said, this is the way.

It may seem wrong or not for you.

It may resemble hurt.

But, keep going.

Keep being you listening to me.

Keep being surprised by me.

In progress, I have 22 paintings commissioned that will be gifted to women, a reminder to me of something I never set out to do.

In 2015, I was given a Bible at Christmas. It was designed with space for thoughts and color in the margin.

This Bible began my journey into being an artist and it started with women from the passages who felt like women like me.

Sketches, simply sketches.

It’s now falling apart, the pages are more thin than makes sense. I should, I suppose put it away for safekeeping, stop using it.

This Bible led to painting angels for people who were grieving or needed encouragement and then to painting other subjects.

Not angels, but landscapes, abstracts, animals and trees.

And figuratively strong women standing, leaning, postured in a position that conveys battles won, grace remembered and mostly, I hope,

A decision to live with expectant hope.

To hope.

Their gazes fixed on hope.

Hope we can’t see; but, fully known because of God’s Spirit in us.

And along with all the nudges and the pauses.

The changes and questions.

I’m seeing the purpose of the visible pain and the invisible questions I’ve carried.

I’m finding my way to be guided by hope and endurance rather than questions of why and a constant looking back to a decision (even if feeble) to live “now” not then.

Knowing I have no idea what is coming only that what comes to me through my Father is always good.

Always has purpose.

We’ve come a far distance, those of us harmed by the uncertainties over why it seemed life chose to hurt us.

Keep going.

Keep hope.

You are loved.

31 days of good things

Angels, Children, Faith, family, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Day 30 – Walking With the Baby

The Monday morning fog grew thicker once the sun came up. The baby laid down for his morning nap and was sweet like an angel.

So, we shifted the routine.

We walked close to 11.

The breeze was pleasant.

The light through the trees was not at all blinding, only inviting.

Artist me, blogger and wanna be memoirist cherishes a bumpy walk with a baby boy making baby sounds and the absolute simplicity of God being close.

Close to me on a morning walk.

Morning Walk

Also, a yellow butterfly hovered over us.

Baby Henry looked up in a curious search.

I’m not sure who’s spirit it was.

But, I’m leaning towards my mama.