Day 7 of 31 days of UNimpressive writing: words of prayer

Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I woke up feeling blah and my mind went back to a certain word.

Words are light

I hear a word, find a word it’s descriptive nature so truthful, so perfect… that I go back and ponder its meaning.

Thinking, “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant, so clearly what I felt”.

I’m hesitant to say this.

Not everyone has a love for words like me.

Not all people are “noticers” as my friend who understands me says we are.

“We notice things.” he says.

We linger in thoughtful remembrance of meaning.

My children, when they were younger, rolled their eyes, groaned and said “Why do you always have to use such big words? Just use normal words!”

I refused to be swayed. “Why would we have words, if not to use them? If you have words, you should use them.”

This morning, I woke with a sense of apathy.

I used that word last week when describing my concern over tone in voice that had me worried, an impenetrable attitude, a denial of doubting; yett, their tone spoke a resigned disbelief in most everything.

I told my friend, “There was just such apathy in their voice.”

And then, another friend, I saw this forlorn resignation her face.

A face that’s been saying for so long, “All is well.” had changed just slightly, head tilted, eyes more downward.

Perhaps that day they woke with apathy…woke with indifference.

Apathy

I heard apathy in the story of a child’s unthinkable choice.

Heard it in a story unexpected, tragic loss that made absolutely no sense. Heard it in the voice of a friend grieving.

Yesterday evening, the heavy stories piled up and I decided I must go for a walk!

I walked and was briefly a little better, guided by sunset horizon of rose-colored clouds.

It had been a while since sunlight.

My daughter, camera in hand, crouched in grassy roadside field taking photos

Seeing her, seeking beauty of light

like me.

Laughter, between us before bed as I disciplined my thoughts to continue towards hope.

Praying, believing.

Woke this morning and there it was to welcome me, apathy.

I woke with sense of “No need, doesn’t matter anyway”.

Woke with the notion that I’ve worn out my welcome at the feet of the father. That I’ve talked it to death, that I’ve become quite the nuisance.

The outcome’s been determined already anyway, why must you belabor the matter?

But then, my thoughts went to what I know, surrender and abiding.

I wondered how is apathy any different from surrender?

If I surrender, I trust.

If I surrender, I am remembering that God is Sovereign…yielding.

Surrender to light

A surrendered heart is a heart with light, a heart that is resting, not doubting.

Apathy feels like God has done more than he should. More than He will, that woeful mindset of bad things already to come.

Apathy is darkness, doubt and disconnect. Surrender is abiding in light.

The light makes all the difference.

“And we thank Thee that the darkness reminds us of light.” T.S. Eliot

Day 5 of 31 Days of UNimpressive Writing: Geese, Bluebirds and New Chances to Love

Children, courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

The geese were back this morning.

First time in days.

I turned to make my way back inside, stopping to gather fallen leaves and heard their approach.Their sound a celebration of the day, exuberant and joyous it seemed.

I held fragile leaves in my hand, turned towards the sounds of geese and joined in their flight, my mind there with them, moving forward, renewed and committed to the day.

The ground is soaked here, covered in pine needles today. We were spared the damage of wind and flood, our yard simply evidence of rain, constant torrential showers. I was thankful today for leafy, wind tousled and soaking wet ground. Wet, muddy yard scattered with pretty color; my feet were planted in a level spot and I glanced towards the damp, steely sky.

My cousin called this morning and we talked of life, of children, of God. We were getting carried away, consistent in our anguish, of things we can’t let go, things that frustrate us. We talked about the flood of our weekend and she shared her experience of Hurricane Katrina. This flood, Joaquin prompted storm, had both she and her husband reliving the trauma. I told her I’m very afraid of water and wonder if people will be found dead in their homes. She said “Most likely” and shared of homes ravaged by Katrina that were marked with an “X” to indicate a dead person inside.

We meandered back to the subject of our children then.

We understand why we’ve mothered the way we have; just don’t know why we keep going back there,

Trying to be the mother they’ve outgrown.

The mother that meets our need, not theirs.

We’re making progress though, beginning to think as God thinks of us, agreeing that the greatest desire of our lives has been to parent well, differently, unquestionably committed to our sons and daughters.

We have been and are good mothers. We know this.

Never occurred to me until just now, I thought to myself. “I’ve parented well, absolutely wholeheartedly. Let God lead them now. ”

She got quiet, thinking, I assumed then excitedly announced “There are bluebirds in my yard. The most beautiful bluebirds are just outside on my porch!”

“God is telling us to have hope”, I said. ” He’s telling us to let go now, we’ve done our part, he’s ready to take it from here.”

They’ve left our nests; well-loved and knowing they are loved.

There are new, bright places for them to grow, us too.

Loved well and loving well.

New places to grow

Waking up Gray and Wandering

Faith, family, Prayer, rest, Trust, wonder

It’s a gray morning and only Tuesday.

I felt the foggy hue before I turned from the twisted covers to decide, “Get up, now.”

Made my way down the hall to discover Colt’s overnight task of removing the stuffing from his bed.

White fluffy puffs scattered in the mud room illuminated by laundry room light left on, piles of unsorted clothes, jeans, T-shirts, belts, shoes, towels all mingled together, my appointment for tonight.

I flipped the light off, closed the door and walked towards coffee.

Sat with my journal, a defiant posture, huffy and discontent.

Barely said goodbye to my daughter as she turned to leave.

Caught myself, not soon enough though, glanced towards the fog outside and said “Be careful.”

Yesterday was a good day, Lord. Why this discontent today?

Why this cluttered and anxious mind?

Jotted a bullet list called “What am I stressing over? Why this mood?”

Why do we long for more, for different when what we have is not just enough, it’s more than enough?

Why these empty and cluttered places I’m pondering today, places of a dissatisfied, wandering heart?

Places waiting to be filled to abundance, waiting to be the resting place of God. Places of uncluttered contentment, of abiding peace. Places we know mean rest.

Instead, I woke feeling like a 40 year desert wanderer, enmeshed with a throng of disgruntled and dissatisfied seekers of more. Looking everywhere for better, all the while surrounded by goodness, manna raining down from God.

Oh, Lord, forgive my discontented selfish heart that tends to wander. Fix my eyes, heart and thoughts on you, I prayed.

O’ Lord, You have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my every thought when far away. You chart the path ahead of me and tell me where to stop and rest. Every moment You know where I am. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord. You both precede and follow me. You place Your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to know! Psalm 139:1-6

I move along in routine, grab the tennis ball delivered by Colt. Walk barefoot to accept the day, feet moist and covered in specks of green and straw brown pieces of nature. Trees, darkened by two days rain, leaves mottled and moist with season and damp. The plantings of summer allowed to wither, cold is coming anyway. Trees laced with thick complex webs with leaves caught within, layered, entrapped.

The sky is a dull, almost porcelain gray and the cows from a field up the road, moan low and long in agreement. I look for sunshine, tossing the tennis ball, intermittently praising its retrieval, a big happy dog content with “Good, boy, Colt.” then turn back towards the door, seeing more color, less gray.

And then I pray, Lord, forgive our discontent; remind us of your goodness and graciously embrace our wandering hearts.

I link up with Jennifer Dukes Lee every week. I have just read her latest post with a contented smile resting on my face. Her colorful story of our heavenly reunion she has dreamt of just excites me for today, for what’s to come, for living to radiate Jesus! I encourage you to read this. It’s another gray day here, humid on this last September day. Click here and smile, assured of heaven.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/the-unlikely-invitation-weve-all-been-waiting-for-tellhisstory/?utm_source=Blog+Subscribers&utm_campaign=b575b42722-RSS_EMAIL_CAMPAIGN&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_90981b7d90-b575b42722-70727985

Plans and interrupted walks

Children, courage, Faith, family, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

We walked uphill that evening, Colt the big Brown dog and I. Like raising a toddler, it’s important to stick to routines like tennis ball toss before work and certain chew toy at bedtime. Walking, that day was a chore, pulling the leash and correction and command.

We rounded the curve and topped the hill then stopped suddenly.

At least twenty geese had gathered in the empty lot; pond on one side, subdivision the other. They lingered as if convened in strategic discussion as I waited, phone in hand anxious to capture the hysterics of geese taking flight and lab reacting to the chorus of winged flight and duck song. I untangled the leash, found camera on phone screen and steadied us both, dog and I for the flight show.

Then without chaos or startle, in orderly and quiet fashion, the pattern was complete and the geese ascended rhythmically upward and away. No crazy videos or shots of dog and bird, just one single image to keep. At first I missed it. Looking closely you can see it there between the pines, following pattern and plan. The one image of our walk interrupted by geese and God.

Flight

Today, I get to see my son. My daughter will see her little brother. We will acquaint and adjust knowing his pattern has been changed. We’ll talk of life and love without using the deep words or any words at all, knowing this time is a celebration of significant strength, grace and prayers heard.

We’ll meet up, convene for a while with my special beyond words cousin and then we’ll return home more convinced and thankful than before of God’s great and Sovereign navigation.

And we’ll thank for him for the better plan.

The one not seen until surrender, not known until pausing to look again.

O Lord , you have examined my heart and know everything about me. You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away. You see me when I travel and when I rest at home. You know everything I do. You know what I am going to say even before I say it, Lord . You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too great for me to understand!
Psalms 139:1-6 NLT
http://bible.com/116/psa.139.1-6.NLT

Waiting

Linking up with http://jenniferdukeslee.com/come-and-see-tellhisstory-with-a-book-dvd-giveaway/

Thank you Jennifer!

Finding feathers again

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

I almost stopped noticing feathers, red birds and coins.

A callous remark meant to be fun was hurtful.

“How will you survive your son, your “baby” going to college?”

My answer, not quite as mournful as the question.. “Oh, I don’t know.” was met reply…”You’ll be fine, just go find a feather.”

So, I almost stopped noticing.

I walked the Saturday evening after seeing the accident with a little boy injured frighteningly bad. I thought of the posture of my prayer that day and the unashamed plea for life. I recalled the scene of imploringly requesting mercy, the prayer, unashamed, uninhibited.

I remembered as I walked, the sweet story of a white dove on the walking trail. The dove my daughter and her fiance had greet them a few days in a row before that Saturday.

Before that Saturday afternoon beside the road with a little boy.

Peace, a dove, calmly preparing the heart.

And as I walked and prayed God’s will, God’s glory, not mine

I noticed, shiny, glistening, amongst flattened leaves and straw

A silver, beaten up old dime.

And I remembered that finding a dime is symbolic of grace and assurance as if to say, ” It will be alright. You are seen. You are loved.”

“You are remembered.”

And so, I am noticing God again.

Red birds flitting by. Clouds bordered by pink. Big pretty full or skinny crescent moons. Lyrics that stop my busyness, speak perfectly, clearly.

Parallels in prayer, in thought, in scripture recited, journaled, offered up to a friend and then recalled, repeated, reminded by another.

My friend, John stopped by and we talked about a funeral.

The music. Piano, clear and consulate. The message. The presence of God, of love.

He had noticed too. So, I shared my words recorded earlier:

A few weeks ago, a friend who happens to be an employee lost her husband unexpectedly. She was in shock and heartbroken, physically ill. In our embrace, I reminded her of her strength, her courage and her faith. “You are strong.” I told her. “Still, it will be hard.”

Through the evening and into the following day, I texted her to check in, each time reminding her that I was praying for her. I recalled a promise from God’s word and I simply texted her “My prayer for you is that you are keenly aware of the peace of God…the peace that surpasses all understanding.” Thinking back now, I know that verse was brought to mind by God, for my friend. Without knowing the exact verse or its context, these few words came to mind for my friend.

While not nearly sufficient to ease her pain, I’ve thought since how appropriate these words were for my friend her world spinning and she, in shock. The passing of her husband on a typical Thursday morning, something she could not understand. And I thought “How amazing is our God that he knows there will be tragedies we can’t fathom or understand?”

We are not expected to understand.

Our lack of understanding confounds us, troubles us, and grieves us. His command, His promise, “Rest in my peace. It surpasses your bewilderment and grief.”

I attended the funeral service for my friend’s husband. The music enveloped me as I sat accompanied by a few women who live in our shelter and one other friend.

We were such a contrast, lining that pew, I’m sure to most people.

Young women, older women, and a sharply dressed professional and member of our board of directors, we lined one of the pews. All of us there as friends together loving our friend through her loss.

The minister welcomed us with a prayer and all joined in singing Amazing Grace. My board member and friend, the definition of a gentleman, sat on my right and a pregnant and homeless young woman, a resident of our shelter on my left. The gentleman, a crisp navy suit; the young soon to be mother, having no dresses wore a pair of denim capris, a maternity top and a bright scarf she later told me with a big smile she added to give “a pop of color”.

We sang together. We blended beautifully.

We sang Amazing Grace as if we’d all been singing in the same little church choir for years. By the third verse, I found myself in tears over the beauty of this grace, this peaceful worship.

The minister spoke from Philippians, Chapter 4. He spoke of the pain of death. He spoke of grief and of the hope of heaven. Then, he closed with verse seven:

“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” Phil. 4:7

Quietly, I closed my eyes then and thanked God for His words and His lyrics, our Amazing God, our God who longs to be noticed.

I am noticing again. How can I not?

My friend, now a widow returned to work at our shelter.

A very young new mom and precious newborn baby girl, anticipating her return. A child, a mama, an older wise lady.

A young woman, burdened by mistakes but believing in good

And a front porch fern with open mouthed, frantically happy birds

Saying “Begin again”.

Finding feathers and noticing God. We begin again.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee, sharing, learning, being brave.

little sayings big thoughts

courage, Faith, family, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Closer to God

I cannot remember when, but someone complimented, noticed my faith.

I wish I could remember, just a conversation in passing I think.

I thanked them….said “I’m a work in progress.” Because I am.

Progress not perfection.

Doubtful but not nearly as often doubting God.

And lately, I say “Time will tell” about most everything.

And I’ve said “God has a plan.”

in response to unknowns so many times a day I should be constantly at rest, in submission.

And I recall my best stance, my life verse, the Lisa God knows best, God made this way.

Quietly confident…resting strongly. Isaiah 30:15

I woke this morning and thought of prayer. Can’t see, can’t touch, can’t measure…like faith it is most real in the looking back, the remembering of the written, the spoken, the thought, the mentioned to God, to friend, just to self. I thought of my frustrations, my drive to intervene, to fix, to shed light on an unfair turn of events.

My prayer, my thoughts, my surrender. God answered. He convicted. The unfair and upsetting became fair and possible.

I had rested. I had waited. I am waiting more often.

I am drawing near, staying near.

Refusing to doubt.

Doing what I can…letting God do the rest.

Little sayings.

Big thoughts.

Early morning brings a prayer of clarity:

Lord, remind me of the gift of coming back to you. Remind me of clarity and of your sovereignty. Keep me aware of the joy of quiet. Make me an example to others of the blessing of trust, of confident quiet. Give me simple, yet powerful boldness in declaring your mercy and your grace and Lord, most of all, thank you for loving me in the times my prayers are angry, rambling, frustrated, and disheartened. I thank you Lord, for the gift of quiet, for this is when I see, I feel, I recognize…

You were listening.

In Jesus name, Amen.

Grace, still

courage, Faith, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Is it true that a man was caged, standing tall and strong as he waited for the trail of fire to ignite his body?

Are children being ravaged and beheaded?

Are quiet men who profess Jesus lined up along the shore, told to kneel and then decapitated?

Kneeling, accepting the firm hand pushing their frames into the pristine sand anticipating the horrific force of death?

Did their blood make bright red the vast expanse of ocean, tinting pink the foamy tide until the high and low of nature settled its remnants along the ocean floor?

I wish I knew more, or maybe I am glad I do not. I am not a political person. I’m overwhelmed by world news and our country’s news. Coverage so divisive and frustrating, filled with uncertainties. If I’m honest, I am dangerously close to apathy. I am not all informed, but I can’t stop thinking about the 21.

I wish I knew that the horrors were exaggerated.

I read that reverent, firmly spoken prayers were uttered.

The mouthing of silent reassurances offered up in Jesus’ name.

The martyred 21 offering final and steadfast faith in God through prayers soft praises on a shore

Hollywood-esque portrayal of riveting and graphic violence

Perhaps, they knew we would not look away.

A cinematic broadcast of martyrdom simply to illicit our fear.

Brutal and belligerent terror, tyranny has gotten our attention.

But, we know of grace.

And we know of heaven and the glory to come.

That same shoreline ravaged by death met the morn of today.

The heavens opened and the warmth of a tangerine sky greeted our world.

The waves built up from the stirrings within and from below.

They crashed upon the shore again

Again, and again.

Making beautiful and resoundingly peaceful the place in the sand of lost lives

Fresh and new, grace still there. That same place of deaths.

Grace is there.

A cloud covered billowy sky with glimpses of God’s grace remains.

His grace endures, makes new. The heavens declare it so.

Let no one tell you otherwise.

Stand firm and be still in God’s grace, still.

The heavens tell of the glory of God. The skies display His marvelous craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make Him known. Psalm 19: 1-3

happy slumber

Children, family, Motherhood, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Slumbering

Last year this time, I headed home down ice abused streets.

Glancing towards windows as I drove.

Hoping for homes illuminated by the magic of electricity.

Ice ravaged our trees, our streets, tested our Southern spirits.

Walking into my den, I’m greeted by a den floor covered in mattresses.

Every blanket, quilt, afghan, cover or spread.

Beautifully, tidy and pretty.

My daughter has made our beds…and I am greeted with love and happy colors.

Everyone’s recalling the storm of 2014.

And I, this morning, in the quiet of early am cherishing this…

The time we slumbered together next to the fire.

When Heather made the beds.

Remembering now, my eyes moisten from the sweetness.

The happy place in the storm.

The happy slumber.

The clearing

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, wonder

Hope and Believing

Hopefully, full of hope. And Blessed by my believing.

Blessings, unanswered prayers, all the longings of my heart.

Are cherished by a Sovereign and attentive Father who gently, yet persistently desires my trust.

Patiently, watchfully waiting for my trust.

Trust in His best, His time.

Yesterday, I was blessed with clarity.

An unexpected gift in the routine of my day.

A new understanding of Hope…more than a forced emotion I try to convince my doubtful heart and mind to believe in.

Nothing good comes by force. One of my favorite “notes to self”.

Sometimes I force myself to glean understanding from God’s word.

Compulsory reading of scripture, habitual even.

Moving into my day with empty devotion, empty heart.

It’s the times though that we are moved by a word in a new way and we are changed.

We remember. We cherish the clearing.

Hope.

Hope does disappoint. It is planted in our hearts from God.

Romans 5:5

And then a favorite song, heard in a new way on yesterday’s walk.

A song on repeat in my car, my mind…a solo by me in our choir.

One stanza…just a line.

I listened and in the clearing, I heard.

God hears my imploring, sees my doubts, knows my anxious, analytical heart.

God is concerned with my calamity.

He longs for me to know this. To be changed by this knowing.

And simply, Believe.

“And all the while, you hear each desperate plea and long that we’d have faith to believe.”

Laura Story, Blessings

The Beautiful After

courage, Faith, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

Fascinated with the fallen – Hunting Island, SC

Massive branches, limbs, fronds border the shore.

Beautiful in their damaged and broken state.

Yet, strong and impressive in their beauty.

Luring us, to walk amongst the destruction.

To pose for photos next to nature’s enormous debris.

Standing proudly, smiling prominently as if an honor to be alongside.

The beautiful aftermath.

Storms cannot destroy grandeur.

Cannot diminish courage.

Will not silence or obscure the power of the telling.

The brave sharing of troubles that came.

Of strength that was tested.

Strongly different, altered, broken, but not destroyed.

Softened, perhaps and surrendered by the grace of storm.

Conquerors, enduring hopeful survivors with fascinating stories.

My story, my song…sharing the beautiful afters.

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God, through Jesus. We gained this access through faith. So, we can stand and rejoice in the glory of God. We can rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering teaches us to persevere, which gives us character and character reminds us to rely on hope.

Hope does not disappoint us. Hope is God’s love poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. Romans 5: 1-5

Hope gets us through to the Beautiful After.

	Lisa Brittain on Women of Faith
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Women of Faith
	smoker4mom on Women of Faith
	juliedibblewrites on Embracing
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Shine On