writing

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.

Angels and Change, Maybe

Angels, Art, confidence, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, family, grace, memoir, Redemption, writing

A grouping of small paintings of Christmas angels, a collection called “Peace on Earth” is now available through The Scouted Studio.

You can view all of the pieces and shop here:

The Scouted Studio

And now, about the possible change. I’m motivated to write with more intention. I’ve gotten a bit lazy in all things purposeful as far as writing.

I’d love to have a more thoughtful and strategic way of connecting with those who relate to my voice, my story, my content.

Writing or blogging friends…thinking of moving my writing from WordPress to Substack. Any advice or experience? Also, has anyone saved their WordPress blogposts as a document to keep or possibly use for future publishing?

I need to make a choice very soon…renew here or start new on Substack.

Comments welcome!

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.

Certainly

Abuse Survivor, aging, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, grace, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

I’m reading a book my sister recommended and thinking there was a time I would never have read it.

A struggle between good and evil would’ve decidedly led to me deciding it was evil and putting it on the shelf, washing my hands of it.

The author can’t decide whether she believes God exists.

It wouldn’t be hatred of her or even judgment that would’ve have led to my banning of her book, of her.

It would be a tangible fear, a fear that the thoughts and questions of another might somehow taint my mind, lead me forever astray.

I might “be in trouble”.

You see, there are choices embedded in me, pounded into my head and heart by the angry preacher yelling at me, a chubby adolescent, an intimidated child who just wanted to belong.

To be safe and loved.

And learned to believe that according to God, to belong meant finding wrong in others, telling them about their sin and then never ever associating with such a person.

That’s why I still have this fear that a writer or just a person different than me, might somehow have the special powers to lure me, change me, make me unacceptable to God.

To be unlovable.

I think often of how this fear of being not faith filled enough, about being certain of being right and all the others wrong

Kinda caused me to make some unkind conclusions about others.

To utter unkind words.

Thinking their faith was false when I had no idea or evidence of such.

It was just a response that came from a mark left on a little girl.

Girl becoming a woman seeking perfection to avoid shame, girl becoming woman who waited to be condemned, never comforted.

Girl becoming a woman who always felt but only recently told God so…

“I feel like you’re punishing me, God.”

A woman with a tear soaked face who rose from the floor better for telling God so.

Sensing Him say, “I knew you felt that way, now you’re feeling better already because you weren’t afraid to tell me.”

And that feeling was very certain. God, you love me after all.

The author, Kelly Corrigan in her chapter of her book “Tell Me More” explores the simple response, “I don’t know.”

And it’s an honest choice she expresses.

A private one too.

I’m certain of God’s love. I have more reasons than that memoir idea I keep dancing around would have space for.

I do believe.

It’s a choice and on questioning days I ask God with raw honesty, the questions I used to believe I’d go straight to Hell for even having.

My faith is a winding path, has been mostly.

But, I’m beginning to notice with certainty that the path is becoming more simple, more solid, more sure.

And I’m certain that straightaway road has come in gradual honesty, brave questions and a settled stillness to open my heart and mind, no longer afraid to wonder.

Continue and believe.

Your life, every bit of it is your teacher, your listening and patient guide.

You are loved.

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

Abuse Survivor, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, writing

Day 29 – Mercy

I’m giving myself mercy today because I can’t think of anything original or feel like really stringing words together that may be witty or cause one to pause and think.

I keep thinking about Matthew Perry. I know, I know. I don’t know him and he’s a celebrity.

But, I keep wondering if his drowning was intentional or if he passed out from drinking or drugs which would mean he’d fallen backwards

maybe again.

I walked and wondered if it was shame over a slip up that led to him falling too far to get back up.

I wondered about shame in general as I willed myself to get up from my painting desk to get fresh air.

To exhale, inhale, notice life on a solitary close to dark walk.

I thought about shame. I wondered if it can make you ill, physically ill.

I walked on, quietly.

Talked to God in my mind.

Took the long way back home

And saw a dove perched on the street sign on the corner.

And I don’t know why,

It made me think of mercy.

A bird sitting contentedly.

Expectantly.

Mercy that never relents, never let’s go.

Remember this good thing today.

Mercy remains.

Give yourself some grace and mercy today.

You’re not too far gone.

31 days of good things

aging, Art, bravery, courage, doubt, Faith, hope, kindness, memoir, patience, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Day 26 – Early Morning Acceptance

Before bed, I read a verse about being cared for. I read that the shepherd takes care of his sheep overnight. Sheep don’t have to worry about being fed, of waking rested and ready.

I woke too early on an “off” and open day. The moment I sat with coffee, a thought came.

I’ll share it here as the “good thing” today.

Morning Thoughts

“What are you building and why when I’ve already established your dwelling place?”

I wrote underneath 10/26/23 and my children’s names in a thick circle, is this question.

I pause to consider why, I question the significance of “dwelling” and I imagine eye rolls and even laughter over the “depth of me”.

The more I thought of this question God gave me, I compared this world we live in, these lives we lead of striving and comparing ourselves just to stay “caught up”.

We don’t have to build ourselves up.

We may topple under the weight of the hurried addition to our first or second floor. We neglect the foundation and we envision mansions that represent our lives, when we’d be better as a quaint little three bedroom with a porch.

After all the building for appearance and to comfort ourselves in being enough, we just might find we don’t want to live here anymore, it’s just too much.

And that’s good

That’s a kindness of God to be shown that you are enough, more than and that although you feel worn thin and the structure of the dwelling of you is feeble and tired, there’s still a little corner that’s waiting for you to find yourself acknowledging the exhaustion.

You matter.

The condition of your body and soul, the place where God dwells even when we can’t find Him in the clutter.

Surprisingly, that’s a sweet place, the most beautiful place you’ve known all along.

Maybe, its name is acceptance.

I think so.

God gave me this today. He wants us both to know. We are enough in our dwelling with Him, we don’t have to wear ourselves out in building, renovating or leveling ourselves in destructive manners because we don’t think our “dwelling” measures up.

God has more than we can fathom in the place of us He long ago established.

“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭45‬:‭3‬ ‭NIV‬‬

You are loved.

Continue and believe.

31 days of good things

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Day 22 – Joy Found and Remembered

I saw the copper color on the carpet and thought, “penny on heads, yay!”

Instead, it was a piece of cereal, a circle shaped flake.

When I read the parable of the lost coin, I can see myself as the widow. She’s searching every corner, maybe like me had to find her glasses or maybe she resorted to rubbing her hand along the floors, the corners, the spaces where the coin may have landed.

“Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”


‭‭Luke‬ ‭15‬:‭8‬-‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ve lost many things. I’m sad because a pair of earrings disappeared (twice, one time I found them) and I can’t find the one charm for my bracelet. It’s long lost.

More than those treasures though is the mystery that many events and interactions in my life, I have no recall.

No memory.

Someone told me after all these years, willing myself to remember, sitting in silence trying to recalibrate my brain,

That complex PTSD often results in memory loss. A chronology of hurt has this result.

Now, you may think this is heavy, sad, upsetting, even depressing.

No, it’s a gift, a joy to know that life is an invitation to simply cling to the joyful and to make more joy, if you can.

So, what is joy?

What is found treasure?

It’s found in listening.

Acceptance of every tiny moment.

It’s found in observing. It’s the evidence that who you are now is so much more important than who you were or what hard things happened to steal chunks of remembering.

The widow in the parable rejoiced.

Was it because she was poor?

Was it because she simply celebrated her not giving up her search?

Or even more, because she realized the essence of the truth of Jesus.

She mattered.

She was not one who’d ever be given up on.

Nor am I.

Nor are you.

I know the parable is about Jesus caring about every single lost soul.

To me it’s about joy.

About never giving up on being found by it and by it finding you.

I’m 63 years old with a timeline of trauma. But, not until today did someone say to me, the memory loss is because of what happened to you, it’s really just brain chemistry, neuroscience.

And the truth of that felt like a coin I’d been crawling around on my knees, scouring the floor to see

For a very long time.

Trying to squeeze the memories from the layers of my brain and all for naught.

Except the realization of the present and the chance to add to memories.

God is so good to me.

I surely don’t deserve it.

There are countless things I’ve agonized over not being able to remember.

I’ll never find those memories.

Maybe, though I can feel deeply the way those crises and celebrations made me feel and I can honor those times and myself by feeling all the feelings now.

Found, not lost at all.

31 days of good things

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, hope, kindness, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Day 21 – Listening

It’s helps that it’s catchy, the wise words for remembering.

Listen, Lisa

Works I Love

I stepped lightly to assess where I may have gone wrong, rushed to edit, didn’t leave “well enough for now and maybe always” alone.

Now, I see.

I should’ve listened to that pull, the voice that said.

This is you.

This is good. Let it rest. Let it be.

There’s no need for a rush to redo. There is no expectation for anything other than that you listened.

Listened attentively.

Listened with no plan of action or scheme.

Listened for the opening that never comes like a bursting, more like an invitation.

Listen and learn.

Contribute to the redemption of where your listen wasn’t necessary at all or steered you wrong.

Remembering, you can’t hear the gentle tone of directions spoken if you’re thinking you got it on your own.

Listen and then, welcome your role in the redemption that made a mess and muddied your message.

Always a good one, led by patience and surrender.

“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭64‬:‭4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Continue and believe.

Listen for the love.

31 days of good things

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, kindness, love, memoir, Redemption, rest, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Day 20 – Being Seen

There wasn’t time for a deeper conversation. There wasn’t the space nor would the talk about the state of my heart, my mind have been able to find space in all the other chatter.

Someone I love and who loves me and is wise, told me later on the phone…

“You looked so tired that day.”

And I did my best to decide whether to say that I was in fact tired, to share with her all the reasons of how I had just been pushing through

or to wait and see if her observation may have invited

a more beautiful conversation.

If she might have time to listen, if I might be brave to clarify. If she might be courageous enough to share her own heart.

Being honest is risky.

I try to recall that day. Was I exhausted or was I just me at 63?

Likely a combination.

But, wouldn’t it be beneficial in a loving way, I thought if she’d have said,

“How’s your soul, what’s on your mind, what’s causing you to feel unwell, what’s brewing underneath that’s about to boil over and you’re trying to keep it under wraps?”

“What’s the thing under the thing”

Then, I would have sensed an offer of hope.

This morning, before I threw off the covers, responded blurry eyed to a ding on my phone, I thought of this longing…to be seen,

to have a sweet conversation about why she thought I “looked so tired”.

I thought of Martha.

I thought of what Jesus told her and how women especially, decide even if in secret, “Mary was his favorite.”

And we know that Jesus was simple telling her to see her sister’s choice to rest as a better choice and still, I wonder…

Could he have elaborated, could he have spoken with more clarity and could Martha have used different language?

“And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭10‬:‭40‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Could Martha have been more vulnerable?

Could she have simply asked the question that prompted warm tears on my cheeks today?

“Jesus, do you see me?”

We likely don’t know the entire conversation, Jesus beckoning her from the kitchen to sit beside her sister.

What if what he meant was simply…you seem so tired, I know your gifts are serving, working, preparing and fixing…

So, come and rest with your sister and I and if you’d like to tell me more I’ll listen.

Many beautiful conversations have been had with the one who pointed out what she saw as my exhaustion.

I know she sees and saw me.

We’ll talk about it soon.

So, today’s good thing?

Being seen.

Who can I truly see today and in an honest exchange allow them to truly see me and then in a conversation that offers hope.

Then, we go on our way

seen, known and loved.

Continuing to believe.

You are loved (more than you’ve been told).