Would you say if someone tells you that you are courageous, you would feel complimented?  If someone admired your transparency, would you say “Thank you” and smile inside?

Or would you wonder, “Oh, no what have done? ” surprisingly, not me, not this time!  I have poured my heart into text and it is freeing and it is my purpose! I have begun the thing I thought I could not do.  

I find myself wanting to tell more, to keep the flow flowing. There are so many stories to my story of a life pulled increasingly closer to God…a God who never gave up on me.

What good will come of this blog, I have no idea or expectation. I just know that there are stories of my God’s saving grace and mercy unending that I am ready to tell.  There are stories of grace that I feel brave enough to share because I trust God will select the listener and for this reason, there is purpose in my pain…there is certainly a reason I was never abandoned.

NOT Sharing is not an option.  Scary? Not so much…Vulnerable? Always, but aren’t we all?

If you grew up worried, afraid, or insecure about life, even for brief moments; you are a tentative adult at times. You look back and remember times of vulnerability. If you’re like me, you found your bearings and even grew into a balanced human being whose memories are just a way to thank God for his grace and mercy.  Your “go to” perspective giver is ” But for the grace of God…there go I.” Only occasionally do you return to the chubby shy little girl hiding behind your grandma. When you do go back to that little girl afraid of being seen, it paralyzes you for a bit as you recognize all too clearly that feeling of insignificance and unpredictable fear.

When something or someone causes this emotional regression, I am quick to identify it or them as an “insecurity button”.  Here are a few of mine:

people who look at my shoes rather than my eyes

people who stand with their hands firmly by their sides when I initiate a hug

either of my children being looked over for something they deserve because this means I have not done all I can

people who enjoy my company one on one but ignore me in a group

people who tell me they will do something and then avoid me

people who are unable to listen if I open my heart because they have to “top” whatever I am sharing

people who lie so easily and so convincingly deny their dishonesty that I begin to doubt myself

I am vulnerable, but not defeated. I am quiet, but not intimidated. I sometimes feel unworthy, but know I’m treasured. I am a fat little girl in a woman’s body; but, my value is not based on that echo of my past. I am beautiful and worthy and most importantly I know my triggers back to the child afraid to be seen.  I am a child of God and his love for me has surrounded me all my life …He has been with me all the while and I will forever praise him for seeing me through!

O Lord, You alone are my hope. I’ve trusted You alone from childhood. 

My life is an example to many, because You have been my strength and protection. Psalm 71:5-7

Yesterday, I spoke to a group of philanthropic ladies, an opportunity to engage their support in our work for homeless moms.  Five minutes before taking the podium, an acquaintance greeted me, both of us surprised to see the other. I smiled and greeted her, my body leaning forward arms reaching out to embrace. She glared, smiled tentatively and stood as still as a pillar. Awkwardly, I smiled and said ” Good to see you.” The insecurity button pushed I almost panicked, but then told myself…”there are women here who are open to your sharing…speak to them,  embrace them!” I did just that and got a wink and “great job” as I returned to my seat.

Know your insecurities and your triggers for feeling “less than” but never let them stop you!

Know that God is with you and has brought you through whatever fears your story is made of.

Twice today I told stories. Simple retelling of interactions, of people on my path. If someone asks me mundane questions like “How did that go?”, or “How was your meeting?”  they are met with a response in the form of a story.  All of my life I’ve been an observer of people. I am often found gazing over at someone, fixated on their mannerism,  their expression, their posture…all the while wishing we could sit and talk…wishing I could ask, “What’s your story?” 

Today, I told two people the same story of helping a desperate mother do everything in her power to reunite with her children. I told of her fears, serious fears, as I drove her to a court appearance. I told of how I was prepared to speak up for her if they refused to acknowledge her persistence. I was so,so sad for her and the burden of her mistakes, the heaviness of her consequences. I told of how when I arrived at our shelter to pick her up, she was dressed beautifully, and kneeling, head bent in reverent prayer. 

Bend down, O’ Lord, and hear my prayer; answer me, for I need your help. Psalm 86:1

I told of her praying again in the courthouse.

Both times shared, I watched their faces, intent on my words, eyes glossed with tears. Twice today I was gifted with faithful listeners, people compelled to know the story. People who connected. Listening is rare, a commitment of time and of soul. A story shared with a listener is a story that leaves a lesson. A listener embraces and converts the soul of words. An encounter with a listener is a treasure. 

God listened. He listens always, bending, waiting, faithfully responding.

This morning, as is the norm, I watch Heather stomp from her bedroom to the bathroom. She struggles to make it down the hallway without opening her eyes. There’s no need to initiate a verbal exchange because I know better. There’s no need to ask about her plans for the day. Austin, laid back and sprawled out, legs folded over the arm of the loveseat…knows too…and just let’s her be her. Feisty, resilient, outspoken and determined are her strongest qualities. Laid back, quiet, introspective are his. Heather has been known to speak her mind and is prone to tantrums. Austin has been known to have an air of arrogance and lack of connectedness. None of these labels fit. I know the real cores of my children as does their Creator. 

Those cores are deep, deep layers that require a closer look and a closer recall of heredity, bloodline, intrinsic heritage. 

My daddy was quiet, thin, neat as a pin, and believed the only good man was an honest man. My granddaddy, Austin, was a rascal. He had a smile that charmed with an upturned lip and he had a broad-shouldered confident walk. He was a fisherman who mainly fished for solace. This is the imprint of Austin.

My mama was a gorgeous southern woman; but, never agonized over appearance.  She was just “Bette”. A cook who saw cooking as joy. She loved football and soaking up the sun. She was prone to intolerance of petty, “peculiar” people. She was comfortable in her skin whether she was lounging on the sofa in her pajamas or dressed for town.  She dressed down or up, rarely in between.  She had a slow, drawn out way of talking and had the rare gift of listening in conversation. She was one of those people you loved to talk to because there was never any mystery of her convictions. She would put you in your place and you’d find yourself shocked and then laughing your butt off because you knew she was right! This is the imprint of Heather Analise.

Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him. Psalm 127:3

My Heather and my Austin are Gifts, rewards I feel so unworthy of, but thrilled to open every single morning!

I have a new response to my creation of agonizingly imaginable incidents occurring in my children’s lives.  I filter my thoughts with “Fact or Fear?”  This morning, I approached the exact location of my daughter’s accident several years ago, an accident that pushed her head-on into a Mack truck. The Mack truck, driven by a law-abiding trucker, had stopped at the railroad crossing and had thereby totaled the hand-me-down Jeep but caused no harm to my daughter. As I saw the police officers clearing the scene this morning, dirty oily stains, skid marks, and shards of glass, I only for a second did an instant inventory of their whereabouts. I stopped myself and I enabled my “Fact or Fear” filter. Heather was by now teaching her precious 4 yr. old students 30 miles away and Austin left at 6:00 a.m. and was by now sitting in Chemistry. These are facts. They are rational and they are true and they do not become inflamed through a mother’s inventory of “what if’s”. So, moms, try my filter…it’s a lot like God’s love…fact not fear

Today, I interviewed a confident middle-aged woman who is anxious for work. She’s in her 40’s and homeless, at her lowest. After hearing her story I thought, “I should give her a job” and arranged an interview knowing I was simply caving to some selfish motivation to save her life. Instead of hiring her, we talked for over an hour about what happens to us when God does something big and scary to get our attention. I told her I was not going to offer her a job because I felt I was doing so out of a need to rescue her. i told her I felt she would feel obligated to stay employed by me and miss out on her true place that’s just around the bend. She accepted my brutal honesty and said she was grateful. We then talked even more about our life journeys and the peaks and valleys and about our conviction that God has a purpose for all seasons. She was surprised that I, a potential employer, a “professional” a person who is not homeless had many of the same detours, failures and worries as did she. Even more surprising for us both was the give and take, the listening, the nods. We, strangers for the most part talked openly about our belief that God has something big for her and that she should not settle for working for me.

She approached me anxious for work, anxious for a solution. She left with my promise that I would be helping her find a job and the reassurance that where she is now is surely a holding pattern for the flight of her life. What a joy to listen, to share, to give and accept honesty. Pay attention to the people God places on your path, especially when it’s an appointment with honesty.

An ice storm described as catastrophic and an earthquake and then I see this. God is in the details.

My son leaves at 6:00 in the morning now. Baseball season just around the bend and workouts begin early with strength,agility, bonding with friends, I suppose.

Yesterday, as the routine goes, he eases from the bathroom to the kitchen, to the door; bat bag, book bag, duffel, scrubbing against the wall as he exits with a grunt sound as reply to my “Be careful,love you.” I listen as the engine starts and find myself straining to hear as I know he’ll be singing along to the radio. I close my eyes, open my hands and give him to God as I pray for confidence,smiles, and good things.

My day then moves to focus my mind on devotion and ritual; but, interrupted by a call. Looking down I see the picture of Austin, incoming call and as does the mind of a mama, I anticipate bad. Yet, I hear, “Hey, I left my Psych project on my desk; can you drop it off?” So, I hurry down the hallway and grab the sketch. I lay it on the countertop and am all at once emotional.

The drawing, a silhouette of my handsome son, a diagram of his brain was a chance for me to understand the connectedness of him and to be connected to him. So, I hurry and adjust my morning and I proudly deliver the drawing to his school, smiling and thrilled to be needed, blessed to be connected.