One Day in the Sand

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, wonder

We travelled that day, old smoking car when I slowed to idle.

A cloud behind us all the way. 

We made it to the coast.


Had sandwiches and sat on towels, not chairs. 

Impromptu declaration of goodness and grace, my mama goal set to carry out as single priority. 

A day trip, beach, frolicking and them napping as I drove back towards old house on the hill at sunset. 

They called me mommy then. 

Years passed and I became “Mama”. Sometimes, Mama!!!! others, Mma…ma….?!

Getting my attention or pleadingly elongated hoping to see my giving in. 

But, never “Mom”. 

I used to think Mom must be reserved for the cool mothers or the ones who turn the heads of everyone, never looking overwhelmed or exhausted or about to fall apart from life and mothering and the significant in betweens. 
Now, occasionally I respond to “Lisa” and it bothers me not in the least that others question my acceptance of being called by my name. 

I love it actually, prettiest sound of all, to hear my name called by the ones I named. 

Happy Mother’s Day Moms, mamas, mommies and all the other names in between!

The names from the mouths of our babes. 

I’m writing prompted by Five Minute Friday. Read other “Mom” stories here: 

Five Minute Friday

Oh and if you’d like to read other stories about being a Mother, purchase the Motherhood Anthology called “I Heart Mom”. 

My chapter called “Leaving Loved”  tells the story of coming to terms with truths told by my children. 

What an opportunity from God to share my redemption story! 

I Heart Mom

Motherly (s)

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Wisdom lingers like blood through my veins, pools of restful reasoning.

My waiting, my trusting, my pulling back rather than pushing for quick resolve.

Less control, more confidence.

My reactions, my bravery, my lack of filtering dislike over phony or for show.

Honest expression of observation, less impressing, more insight.

The wisdom of my mama occupies my frame.

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She opens her mouth with wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. Proverbs 31:26

There are others too, I’ll call them my “motherlys”. The ones who turn me back to me or towards the good or better they see in me.

My daughter, straight shooter and spot on is quick to lift me up or bring me back down to the place of just enough me rather than “too much Lisa”.

I consider her gauge, I consider her critique as she considers my being of me and we are quite good with the compromise.  A beautiful bride, overjoyed to be wed.

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain.  

Proverbs 31:10-11

One believing the other wise.

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Wisdom of mothers and daughters, an exchange I’d not expected so pleasantly friendlike.

Then there’s my aunt, my mama’s only sibling.

“Prayer and patience, Lisa…prayer and patience.” Aunt Boo, we call her.

She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchant. Strength and dignity are her clothing.

Proverbs 31:24

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A newfound motherly, my “Peacock”cousin, told me yesterday as we talked of answered prayers, that she understands me.

Understands the seeking of attention that had long been sought, yet rarely given. Told me it’s hard to know the play between seeking praise and embracing, celebrating a gift.

She corrected me when I told her I’m working hard not to seek the spotlight, I’m working hard on not seeking the glory, working hard to not expect to be noticed.

She opens her mouth with wisdom.

Proverbs 31:26

She said,  “Lisa, it’s acceptance of being affirmed by God. He is affirming your gift, don’t deny his affirmation.”

And I said an audible,”Ahh.” because I’d never considered that hiding away, of not stepping into the light God arranged to illuminate my gift from Him was something bad or invaluable.

I confuse humility with hiding, praise with pride.

When something God made come true, not something I forced, finagled, pushed my way to and through, begging to be noticed.

Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works be praised at the gates.

Proverbs 31:31

So, on this day moving closer towards my motherless day, I’m sharing an excerpt from the chapter in this book called “I Heart Mom”.

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My chapter, titled “Leaving Loved” was God-planted, cultivated and harvested into print almost smack dab in the middle of this Anthology of stories. There are stories for moms across the ages and stages. I encourage you to purchase a copy and I am thanking God, yet again for his glorious affirmation of my love of putting words together to form stories of good.

   I wore red that day, attempting to inspire myself. My mama wore red. She wore it well. She got stronger one day, and from then on, she was confident and known in her management circles. So, I wore red on that day, anxious to appear in control, assertive and take charge. I met with people, several that day. One, rather outspoken and sure of herself in a way making me, twenty years her senior, feel uncertain. She avoided my eyes, kept glancing towards my neckline. At first, I thought, this necklace is cool, trendy, I guess she wonders maybe where I got it. But, her fixation continued, becoming a question. I figured it out, I decided, “It’s my turkey neck, lines like tissue paper crumbled up then folded back to be used again, the lines in my neck, that’s what she’s obsessing. Later, with many encounters between, I stood in my bathroom and there it was, all day long I’d worn my sweater backward, the stitching of the tag, a rectangle at the base of my neck, the little hollow place. Surely, someone thought to tell me; but, decided against, not wanting to ruin my day. Still, I wondered why friends let me carry on all day, afraid to reveal the truth. Something not nearly as earth shatteringly true as truth kept quiet for years, revelations hard to hear, the ones my children finally revealed; the things nobody along the way had been brave enough to say…

I thought of being a mother last night, as I do in some way or another every day, praying they sense God near, hoping they remember my “don’t forget I love you notes.” My son had gone back to college from Christmas break, and I’d forgotten somehow, so I thought for a second, I wonder what he’s doing at the house. My daughter, a newlywed at home with husband, I thought of texting her; but, didn’t’, I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow.  I’m almost certain that if you asked someone who knows me they’d say it was good, the way I raised them up, the way they knew my love. I’d like to know if there’d been one attentive observer who thought about telling me the truth I know now. Being the parent of grown up children is laborious and good, its redemption in my self-examination, in their courage to confront my mistakes and manipulative behaviors from a distance. It’s a circling back around, learning lessons from them, their decisions and words, finally speaking hard things they’d never been bold enough to say before.  So, if you asked that circle of friends, family or from a distant, maybe social media observer if I’d been a pushy mama, a controlling mama or a mama who sought glory through her son, her daughter; they’d maybe say, “No way” or “Not, Lisa.” The answer comes gradually, a harsh reality when your children get just far enough away to tell you so, far enough from the fear of their mama’s reaction. Brave enough to know the value of honest expression despite causing their mama’s shoulders to drop and her eyes turning away as they become warm with tears. Neither of them would hurt their mama; our journey had been rocky, single mama for a bit, just us three. My daughter, my son, their mama’s vulnerable heart and driven desires. They became children who pleased me…

I see it know, thank you for showing me easy, my daughter, my son. In my arranging your futures, in what I thought was right, was love, I could have worn you out. I now see it made you strong, strong enough to let me know, courageous enough to move past it all to become who you are.

To read the rest of the story about my children and Jacob and Esau, of letting God lead and allowing them to leave me loved, purchase the book on Amazon here:

https://www.amazon.com/Heart-Mom-together-strongest-motherhood/dp/099822118X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1494441621&sr=1-1&keywords=I+Heart+Mom

It’s filled with stories of other moms navigating life, love, and leaving.

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Of babies and boys and girls, softly lined cradles and newly emptied nests.

I am thanking God daily for opportunity.

For reminding me not to give up…to take steps towards doors he decides to open or not.

I’m learning to be affirmed by God, that it’s okay to be happy in good things my way.

I’m linking up  with Jennifer Dukes Lee and the story of the “15 Things”.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/mothers-day-15-things-want-daughters-know/

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Lovely Word

bravery, Faith, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder


I may not do justice to the idea of this thing, the “Lovely Blog Award” thing.

I’m afraid I don’t read nearly enough.  I have five or so books bedside usually and I discipline myself to return the love when a blogger likes something I write.

Tammy at faithhopefoodlove a writer who has blessed me by thanking me for being calm and honest. She nominated me for this award called “lovely”.

Last week this time, I’d heard about a book and pushed myself through the Saturday things my mama left me, her legacy to see fit I do them.

Clean smelling house, floors and linens good and tubs and toilets scrubbed. This was our Saturday morning.

I honor her.  My daughter does too.

Striving towards being done and hoping the library has longer hours than before when we’d go on Saturday, my children and I.

I made it in plenty of time, our library now a refuge for those needing to come in and sit, peruse or just be inside.  The librarian smiled when I had no idea they’d updated the card catalog system and then took me over to show off the upgrade.

Together, we found the books, one fiction, one poetry, one non-fiction.

Later, I made my place on the couch, intentional in leaving my phone down the hall and I began to read the words of Anne Lamott. A skinny little book with only three chapters, her summation of prayer, “Help, Thanks, Wow”.

It wasn’t the book I’d gone in search of, I’d gone to find a book to help my writing, a book called “Bird by Bird”. It wasn’t there, so I considered the book on prayer.

I almost set it aside, decided to go no further. The roots of my “independent Baptist” raising clinging tightly, angry and resistant to opening.  She likes to call God “her” and she is a storyteller of stories that include things not allowed in the church of my raising. She says out loud how hard it is to get our hands on the knowledge of God and words and thoughts that get heard and things then happen. Her words are lovely, honest and true.

I do not know much about prayer, but I have come to believe, over the last twenty-five years, that there’s something to be said about keeping prayer simple. Help. Thanks. Wow.

We can pray, “Am I too far gone, or can you help me out of my isolated self obsession?”  We can say anything to God. It’s all prayer.

So, I almost rejected the value of this book for the sake of being shamed by old memories of who I wasn’t and who I could never be.

Man, those childhood things stick, don’t they?

Back to the ” lovely blog award”.  I’m told I should say a few things about myself:

1. I’m often caught between hiding and shining my light, recognition is a tad bit complex for me, being noticed while staying humble seems a contradiction. My daughter said recently, “Just say Thank you, God and be happy.”

2.  I love dark chocolate with almonds and coffee flavored gelato, peanut butter crunchy.

3. I miss my parents; but, rarely bring it up.

4. I treasure in ways no one on earth can measure, the gift of a daughter and son. I’m settled finally, loving well and good and happy to grow old with my husband and a “happy way of life”.


5. I threw away an Art scholarship because my roommate, a feisty and funny girl from England taught me how to drink and how to stay skinny.

6. I now, as of yesterday have an Author page on Amazon. I’m a contributing author in a book called “I Heart Mom”. No books have I written. I am here, thus far.

I Heart Mom

7. I pray many times a day, some days and times in a way that might resemble ritual, others like Anne Lamott describes, “Wow and Thanks and please help me, Jesus.” I pray because I can recount specific times God answered. I believe, not because I have seen; but, because I know and notice what God has brought me to and through.

Because He sees me.


So, I have a few blogs I love for different reasons.

Here we go:

Living Our Days Biblical wisdom, grace and faith conveyed.

Relax cut to the chase truth and wisdom

Live & Learn because his posts are phenomenal, especially “Lightly, child lightly” and because I imagine him a big city success, still he regularly reads my words.

Ebs and Flows because from across the ocean he sends me waves of confidence.

faithhopelovefood because of her kindness and strength.

A Simple, Village Undertaker because he is a “prompter”.

Faith Adventures because she writes gently, faithfully.

Carolina Cisneros because she is brave.

Dawn Leopard  because I know and consider her faith a model.

Each of these, a diverse group, I “follow” and return the favor of grace, enlightenment and word.

Quiet confidence, my ongoing prayer request. Keep me Lord, quietly confident.

 

Strawberries, New Towels and Sweet Potatoes 

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On Saturday morning,  I had granola at 11:30.

Strawberries and banana scooped from the bottom in their pool of creamy milk, the crunchy crisp clinging to little bites.

My Saturday freely open and my husband piddling around while I moved as slow as my body had inclination or not.

I woke looking, searching not frantic over the loss; but,  in a longing way, hoping there’d be a shift like a soft breeze when you’re found pausing enough. I took my time.

Penciling thoughts, thinking I love pencil really over pen and reading verses, catching up on things thoughtful.

I love the pale gray on the buff of my journal, I especially love the smoothness of the pencil tip meeting paper as I am joyous over my thoughts making sense becoming more real and worthy of recording.

I straightened the house a little, not much to do and remembered a thick gray towel found when I was in search of new whites.

I washed and dried them all and remembered, a little excited over their newness.

Added the soft thick gray, sandwiched between the big nice whites. I loved it, I decided and gazed upon it like a masterpiece, this new arrangement.

The popcorn on our ceiling mattered not, not anymore. For whatever reason, the feeling was “content.”

I saw the beauty of now. Of all I have, how amazingly quite enough it all is. The gray taupe of towel, candle holders, shelf, tiny vase and slim forsythia branch a little dried.

I cherished the sight of it all, the measure of content, the serving of satisfaction.

So, I scrubbed my face and the day becoming more beautiful, dressed for walking.

A long way we walked. I let him off the leash, and he swam with geese. I captioned his pic “YOLO”

Yeah, we only live once.

I thought the other day if there might be a lesson I could pass on to those called “millennial ” it would to learn somehow, some way the skill, the mindset, the aspiration of sustaining contentment.

Because, by Sunday night I was sullen again over what might be true, what might be the reaction to those truths I have decided to share for the sake of my story of Jesus.

So, yeah…I believe the key to life might, in fact, be sustaining contentment.

I see now, to be content in all is a secret few find.  We must learn from remembering the peace of it all, small satisfactory seconds becoming moments, hours, lives.

“…for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.” Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

But, for most of Saturday and even Sunday,  it was sweet, the contentment over not so big things at all.

I found the sweet potatoes about to dry up, someone had given them to my husband.

I saved a few and peeled them, thinking I’ll coat them in butter, Parmesan sprinkles and bake them. We’ll have burgers, thick with cheese and we’ll dip the fries in a creamy sauce.

We did.

Then Sunday night ended late, my anxious worries unraveled in some twilight and cinematic dreams.

I woke and my spot welcomed me to the first little tidbit, a quote,

Be faithful in small things, for it is in small things that your strength lies. Mother Teresa

Just now, this evening a reply from a comment I left on a blog that began my day.

She says, “Lisa, I’m so proud of you for sharing a glimpse of your BIG dreams with me. It is difficult to find satisfaction in small beginnings, but I believe that God invites us to linger there a while longer, so we learn to live for Him alone. This way, when we do achieve some measure of success in the world’s eyes, we won’t be carried away on the wind of pride and self-satisfaction.”

I’ll not tell you how many times I’ve read this reply, simply for the sake of its value and truth, she could never have known.

This afternoon I told someone,

“God weaves us all together, we all matter, one to another. It’s his pattern.”

And this is before I read Sarah Koonst’s post at http://www.sarahkoontz.com/ and commented because I had been remembering the contentment of strawberries, new towels, and sweet potatoes.

Small things, great big grace, and love.

Thank you, God, for your grace thus far.
Oh, another Saturday little, sweet thing.

I was Nominated for the “Lovely Blog Award” by http://faithhopelovefood.com/ and will be posting really soon about this special thing and all the other little small and special things.

So many wise words. We are all engaged in an exchange of grace.

Today, I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Read her beautiful words evoking a beautiful sight here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/jesus-sits-cross-legged-end-bed/

Mountains, moved 

bravery, Children, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

We had dinner downtown, she’d made reservations and we allowed ourselves indulgence for the sake of memory. 

We traveled with intent of finding treasures for the beginning of their first home. 

Nothing was found. Frustration mounted over sluglike people convening upon a metal building that was called a barn but was a warehouse of metal full of signs lettered, “Hey, ya’ll”. 

People moving slow, pushing us forward, their breath and bodies so close behind and in front, far be it we pause to consider purchase. 

We got out soon and never got to shop for antiques, our choice, we reconsidered the day, made it new. 

Had a yummy little lunch, napped sort of and had simple supper followed by coffee, cheesecake and chocolate in double decker bus. Fun. People, cats on a leash and couples, we decided on first dates.

Then, we slept in the pretty room with the pretty things. She, before me. I read a little and thought of what I’d decided before we left…”these will be days of small things.”

On Sunday morning, she woke early and I pretended to sleep. I’d thought of the man and wife from England, disappointed over the Blue Ridge up towards mountain blocked. 

I couldn’t help but wonder whether they were not to go further or maybe they were to ignore the warning and proceed. After all, there had been no ice, no snow, no storm. 

But, they heeded the warning and turned back…went no further, returned to be met by others for evening’s gathering.

I’d fallen asleep thinking of the mountain they longed to see, but had been turned back.  Had decided not for us to see, to know. 
And when I woke, lying in the quiet after my daughter had returned to her side, I remembered my thinking of mountains and of them being moved.

 I decided on Sunday morning on the trip with my daughter that I should keep going towards what I wonder may come true. 

I should continue taking steps, not giving up and that mountains are not only for circling ’round and mountains are not only for going through. 

Sometimes, yes, still mountains can be moved. 

Peeking behind the blind, the sun is rising. 

The mountain has been moved.  

I wear a gold bracelet with the silhouettes of daughter and son, an artist palette and a tiny mustard seed in a little bubble of a charm. 
What is this faith, Lisa, this little drop in the bucket that’s already there that will ripple the waters, maybe turn the tide? 

This faith, this tiny seed called your treasure is moving the mountain, the mountain of doubt, fear, or slinking back and of believing it’s all too much. 

No need to consider traveling through or circling around. 
The mountain, the thing I worry looms and dooms. 

It can be moved. 

I fold my hands and I pray in the tiny little room with the claw foot tub, for this understanding of mountain that can be moved. 

It is well with me. There is no need to worry over the climb,  the ascent, the scariness of hard and jagged places. 

For, if I am to travel to places that seem too high, just the thought of them, I may discover the ground has been leveled and I’m standing in fields of grassy green, my arms open wide and my face towards heaven, moist with joyful tears. 

It is well with me. 

 For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.””

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭17:20‬ ‭
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She too, wears a little piece of jewelry that contains a tiny but mighty reminder, the mustard seed. 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/amount-faith-need-handle-problems/

Sparks and Moon

Children, courage, family, grace, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I must make it memorable by recording, lest I forget or lose the 

moment that came back so very sweet like a smile and surprised my end of the day bland and fatigued mind.

I took the road less trafficked because it was a late meeting and Spring, deciding not to be Spring, it wasn’t quite ready after all.

Had me bitter, cold, annoyed and hurrying towards home for the sake of day being done at last. 

A late, long day,  change to save daylight and winter’s harsh unwelcome return on a Tuesday night. 

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

The drifting, mind unfocused, eyes on the road ahead. 

The sky, navy blue and the street granite gray, I catch a swirling spark, 

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

Bright and  red, orange, gold and silvery white…the colors spread in a puddle on the street as the car ahead eases on. 

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

The place I sat in the back, looking at the road behind the long black station wagon late at night we always travelled. 

My daddy “cracked the window” the cold air came in and touched my cheek.

I waited to see the flicker of the ashes, the bright sparks from the flame as daddy dropped the butt, gingerly his finger flicked as we  floated  down the road.

Back to grandma’s, from Carolina, north to Georgia, Bulloch. 

Going home for Christmas. 

I leaned to press my face against cold of winter window and my eyes saw the moon as it followed us back home.

Sparks flying up and the 

Moon following me. I said it followed us all the way and daddy let me believe it so. 

See, Jesus

bravery, courage, Faith, family, grace, mercy, praise, Prayer, Salvation, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

 

It’s cold in Carolina, maybe not nearly as cold as Tennessee; but, it’s cold and the azaleas I wonder, the petals that mark the season might be confused, wishing they’d not shown themselves so soon.

I understand, the exposure threatening the brilliance of a blooming, finally.

I go to open the door, looking for the sound of bird heard from my morning spot, the sound that caused the big lab’s head to tilt in the sweetest of pose. Slide the sliding door and look towards the hedge and it appears quickly, a cardinal as if waiting for me to come and see.

I prayed this morning asking God that I might be more like Jesus. I pondered the thoughts of the stories I’d been reading, found myself returning to, the stories of redemption of people who’d done wrong.  I’ve been resting there with the stories of scarlet colored women, the ones who’d given up on self and on God and the ones who the onlookers judged Jesus by his lack of judgment.

These are chapters and books graced by the printers to have changed the ink to red in certain places, spectacular words.

The Samaritan woman, a small and miserly man in a tree, the young son blind and fearing he and his parents caused his disability and the woman,  red-faced and expecting to be stoned, her reputation. Everyone told Jesus of her bad things; but, he said see others have them too, here’s your chance, go and live more freely.

Yesterday, there was a conversation about uncaring words spoken by those who mask insecurity. Women who long for things to meet covered up unmet needs. The conversation went too long. It tried to be one of understanding; but, became an enjoyable exchange with slight giggles of how “I’m glad I’m not like her.” with excitement in our eyes over the realization we’re different,  “Hey, we love Jesus, kinda makes us better.”

Oh, my goodness.

I woke up wondering about the ones who taunted Jesus, the ones who were in charge who he met along the way.  I wondered if they ever came close to making him feel less than who he knew he was purposed to be. The ones who pushed his “insecurity buttons” and if he were like me, he might have either hidden away or told them just how pompous and arrogant they were and that they too had insecurities…”why don’t you be yourself and quit trying to hide them?!.”

Silly to think, that Jesus might confront unlovingly. He is love and justice

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

    and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
    and to walk humbly with your God?

Micah 6:8

 

He became human so he’d understand us, yet, he never once acted from the place, ugly human.

So, this morning, I prayed that I’d love the unlovable.

I’ve loved the needy. I’ve had empathy for the homeless and abused. I’ve cradled dirty and lonely children in my arms and smiled when they smiled back. I’ve helped those who cursed me and cursed at me and I’ve listened to stories of grief that make no sense at all.

But, Father, I ask you to help me love the pompous. Help me baffle them with my grace, your grace. Help me love those who cause me to be insecure, the ones who hide their own insecurities at the cost of my conclusion that I’m unlike them and unworthy

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

Yes, God, I pray I see more clearly the ones who cover their wounds, shielded by the shadows of pointing out the “less than or less beautiful than another” in hopes of being undoubtedly enough…or more than.

See, Jesus, help me to see like you, like a lone red bird

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learning-live-audience-one/

 

Morning, Splendid Day

Faith, praise, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
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Good day, unleashed

I woke to sounds of nothing. Certain it’s 3:00 a.m. but, I must not look to see. Lie still, adjust quietly, pray, wander your mind, turn this way or that.

This night time thing that I refuse to accept, this pain that is mean and creepy and wakes me up, an angry spasm.

Try this, try that.

What on earth is a rotator cuff, anyway? I’m a stubborn woman. Do not like meds. Do not favor surgery. I will fix this off kilter place in my arm. I know I can.

Try not doing this, not doing that.

Yesterday was splendid, I laid there and thought.

The weather, the walk, the determined abandonment to art that’d been promised.

Colt, unleashed,  ran ahead and looked back to be sure of my follow.

Two grown geese courting  mid pond, took their time swimming away, no worries, we’ll take flight if need be.

Big happy dog swam towards them and they flirted just slightly ahead. He came when I called. His hip, knocked out of place by car, before we found him having been discarded by another,

mIght hold him back, might fling out of socket, a crazy thing.

I called him back, worried he might get too far, refusing to accept he was not as able as he hoped.

Yesterday was splendid.

He turned from the geese, close to the other side and with slowly ummph-like movements, he emerged and stood with me on the bank.

He shook, looked back, shook again and we climbed the big hill back towards the road.

Keeping him close, we strolled and paused, strolled and paused. I patted his head and said. “It’s a good day, Colt” two, three, maybe four times. Oddly happy over my talking to him and knowing he heard, I said it again.

Thinking, how beautiful a day, to be taught by a dog and to be noticed by another.

Someone surprised me and said, “You’re a very good writer.” and I replied “Thank you so very much.” hoping they knew their significance in my newly and decidedly splendid day.

I woke today, had been waiting.

I heard, finally, the morning. Dark still but, the birds beginning to sing.

Made my way for ibuprofen, caffeine and quiet meeting  with birds and Bible.

“It’s a good day.”  I thought.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Lamentations 3 : 22 – 23

 

Precious Life

Children, Faith, family, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder
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Elijah Blue ‘n Colton Dixon

Made it in time before sundown and we covered our faces in fleece. Heather says fat burns fast in cold air.

So, we strolled, imagining calories burned for the sake of cold air. Baby sized ponds, the dogs ran through and we fussed over it, then called ’em back, inviting their play again.

A storm last night, she said, “The windows were shaking, mama, I mean shaking!”

I thought for less than two seconds, “Wish I’d known.”  and she continued with telling me of reaching for her sleeping husband.

Precious, I thought, oh, how sweet!

I made it before sundown and we walked on thick and sandy dirt roads, wide expanse of sky and talk of nothing really and everything really.

“What is it you plan to do with
your one wild and
precious life? “

Mary Oliver

How precious.

Word

courage, family, grace, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I read today and remembered why.  The thing is, I’d forgotten it as pleasure.

Countless messages, subscriptions to opinions and advice of others to equip my writing, prepare my way, make me more writerly. So many voices, is there room for mine?

Information overload.

So, I skimmed my “pins” saved to my “Makes me Think” board and I remembered my last and most beautiful to me book,  The Kite Runner. 

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I understood the story, it was truth for me.

Then, I went for beauty and I wondered still how can it be I’d gone my whole life without the gloriously truthful poetry of Mary Oliver in my life, my heart?

I sat with her words, sipping berry infused tea as I thought of a promise to myself, an essay submission, a friend committed to critique and I’m only 200 words in.

Moments

There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.

Like telling someone you love them.

Or giving your money away,  all of it.

Your heart is beating, isn’t it?

You’re not in chains are you?  There is nothing more pathetic than caution

when headlong might save a life,

even, possibly, your own.

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Then, I settled into Sunday afternoon empty house, content with alone. I continued on the trek with Andra Watkins, reading, prompted by guilt over an unfulfilled promise, Not Without My Father. 

I thrilled over understanding, I smiled over connectedness. A book about walking the Natchez Trace because a person who is a big part of history walked this same trail, long-suffering and anguished. I was reluctant. Not a history person, yet, I longed to read the book.

Then, it happened about midway through!

She wrote of giving up or not. She wrote of longing to be noticed. She wrote of the anguish of being understood or of at least being seen. And her father told her he saw her, he noticed. He was proud. She was tough, tougher than he imagined. So, she cried over the gift of exactly what she’d been longing to receive, to know.

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Then, I continue with her. I’m walking the trail reading the book and joy of all joys, she knows about the red birds, she believes in the cardinal, her “Mamaw” beckoning her, fluttering and following, saying “continue” and telling her it will be good from now on.

She is assured. So am I.

On Saturday, I walked and I thought of words and verses and truth. A bare tree, hosting a bevy of grey and tiny birds, I stopped to stare.

I walked on and decided, those birds were there so I’d notice and look towards the sky, to God and to good.

I thought of my beliefs in the moments like this, so real they’re like treasure. I thought of writing, of sharing the emotion of seeing birds fill a tree up high against sky blue.

I thought of keeping silent, of not describing this Saturday afternoon occurrence of birds for the sake of those who think less of the notice of God, of birds, of word.

Then decided, surely there’s another who might be waiting to say “Yes, I saw them too..oh, the beauty of it all.”

Words, sky, scripture, truth and birds up high in lonely tree

Beauty,  waiting for us to see.