Before Beginning

courage, Easter, Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Trust

Yesterday, I thought of the women in mourning. All day long, sort of tucked back and settled there, my thoughts were on the times in between. 


In between believing it was the end or I might see beginning again, again. 

I keep this on my desk, a little slip of paper.

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. Yet that will be the beginning.   Louis L’Amour

I’ve had some of those. Not only mornings,  I’ve made it through a night or two when your mind finally decided to give it a rest, that real or imagined trauma.

 I’ve made it through days moving through, sometimes falling into bed earlier than made sense just so tomorrow could come. 

I’d say, “I’m going to sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.”

And each and every time I’ve been face first on the floor or knees down, hands open and up, I have made it through. 

Sometimes I had no words, only my heart spread wide open to God. 

He knows. 

Many believe circumstances are designed by God to teach us to hold out hope, to walk by faith, not by sight. 

I know this to be true because I have seen newness of days after months of droughtful delay. 

Like childbirth or special times with someone you love after a too long separation, the hard stuff fades, the pain or consuming wonder over why is so insignificant when the day is new. 

Yesterday, the day in the middle of death and of life. God, I thank you for designing it to be this way. 

For such a time as this, that we worship or we contemplate or maybe question and wonder. 

We see now, Lord.

 I do, I know…more and more and more…age, wisdom and circumstance; but, mostly proof, mostly proof has made me see. 

Like the morning you weren’t there and they waited with heartache to see you again. 

Jesus himself stood among them and said, “Peace to you.” John 24:36

I’ve had my mornings, Lord and I know they are because of you. 

Mornings and long stretches of waiting. 

I see now, just the time and season before beginning.

I pray you know this peace unfathomable, yet true. With time and mornings, truth and life. 

Song and Story

courage, Easter, Faith, grace, mercy, praise, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Sometimes I sing songs to myself, quietly, affirmations. 

I may sing “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” or “I am weak though art strong, Jesus keep me from all wrong.”


The other day, I spoke to a group of women philanthropists and in detailing data and outcome, I kept circling back around to story. 

I stood in front of them, some questioning, some listening, some disenchanted and some quite enthralled. 

I told them, “I am a storyteller.” and some smiled, maybe thinking “Yes, you are.” Because theres a touchable lightness, a clarity I know, I can feel, when I have an invitation to tell. I have a friend who calls this the “Aura of God” He is all around us when we are being who he made us to be, the aura of God, maybe you know too. 

“I love to tell the story of Jesus and His love. Tell me the story of Jesus, write on my heart every word, sweetest that I’ve ever heard. Tell how the angels in glory sang as they welcomed his birth. Living he loved me. Dying he saved me…oh, glorious day!”

I’d loved to have been there. To sit with the two Marys. I believe I would have had no need to question or speak , although there would be much to understand. 

I’d loved to have simply been in their presence when they mourned the horrible death of Jesus, when they stretched out their faithful allegiance to him for as long as they could, lingering where he’d been laid. 

I wonder how long they would have remained had he not risen and then walked beside them to reveal his resurrection to them, His presence. 

Oh, what a comfort that must have been. 

What joy, what a humbling privilege. 

I cannot imagine.


 I’d love to have been able to sit with them. I know they must have told the story to thousands and certainly countless times. Still telling it to me as I make markings of how I conjure them to have been. 
“Early on Sunday morning, as the new day was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went out to visit the tomb. Suddenly there was a great earthquake! For an angel of the Lord came down from heaven, rolled aside the stone, and sat on it. His face shone like lightning, and his clothing was as white as snow. The guards shook with fear when they saw him, and they fell into a dead faint. Then the angel spoke to the women. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭28:1-6

I’d love to have heard their sharing, been captivated by their sadness and joy as they sat before me, women who told their Easter morning story of Jesus. 

I met Jesus when a country preacher told me to just pray for his mercy. So, I did and every single day I feel more forgiven and I have more new and amazing stories of his mercy towards me that tells makes clear, “Yes, Lisa you are worthy of mercy and grace.” 

That’s the way of my moment by minute walk, it’s a growing journey, this song I sing…

“Just a closer walk with thee” and let me ever be aware of you Lord, let me not get so distracted and independent of you Lord. 

Let me linger in the place where death held your battered body. 

But, only just a little while. Because you live. 

This is why I sing, “Jesus Keep me Near the Cross” 

May I be like the Marys, may I know where to stay. 

Tomorrow I’ll sing with our choir made up of women. 

I have a few lines to myself, a solo. 

“The love of God is greater far than any tongue or pen can tell. 

It goes beyond the highest star and reaches to the lowest hell…oh, how he loves you and me.”

What a story I get to tell because of mercy, unmerited favor. His death sacrificial. 

“Oh how he loves you and me…if we with ink, the ocean fill and we’re the skies of parchment made, if every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade…

to write the love of God above

would drain the ocean dry.”

“Love’s like a hurricane, I am a tree

Bending beneath

The weight of his wind and mercy.” 


In Jesus name and because of mercy

I pray, 

Amen.  

“This is my story. This is my song. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine.”

Through the Woods: the Place where They are at Rest

bravery, Children, courage, Faith, family, grace, grief, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

The only way I’d ever know would be to take off through the woods, haphazard but determined. 

There’s an open field between two county lines and I slow down and submit to its calling. 

Every single time. 

There are not many cars, I press the button, lower the window and randomly, but with intention, I hope to capture this place. 

There are photos on my phone.

Today, I decided the sky more magnificent here, the red tipped wild spreading weeds that convince me of flower, they are more special here too. 

This place that sits in the middle of two county lines, Bulloch and Jenkins and Screven, a border, I realized on the other side of the field that turns my head. 

Because I drove on towards the turn towards Rocky Ford, thinking I should go, travel about seven or so minutes then turn right then another right and then a left to the place at the bottom of the clay slick road. 

The Hendrix Cemetary, where my mama and my daddy lay and rest. 

I don’t turn. I don’t know why or I do know; but, I feel horrible to say I don’t. 

They are not there. To visit the stones marked by name and date, I suppose feels obligatory, an act expected.

So, I consider the turn, plenty of time; yet, I decide it is better to go home. 

So, I go on, for only a bit feeling disloyal or unfit and hours later, I’ve decided, the field that causes me to look, I believe it leads to that place. 

If I might set out one day, I believe it would be true. The open field that slows my travel is the one that sits in the shadow of the high hill and the tall cedars that shade the graves of the ones who made me, me. 

Yes, this is why the sky seems more ready to meet me, the field more inviting and the road less long and never ending. 

Because of the nearness, the nearness of them. 

I prefer to notice the clouds, full to the point of bursting and the wide open field beneath that beckons me every single time I travel on my path from Georgia back to Carolina 

And underneath what  I’ve decided now is just a walk through the woods that makes and has made sense all along. 

I felt them; yes, I felt them near and I paused to be sure. 

To be sure. 

Knowing Grace

bravery, Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

I wasn’t looking for this book, went in search of another, one more purposefully instructive.  I found grace though in the pages and if it weren’t the library’s there’d be little gray asterisks throughout. 

When we go from rashly and clenched to grateful, we sometimes get to note the experience of grace, in knowing that we could not have gotten ourselves from where we were stuck, in haste or self-righteousness or self-loathing (which are the same thing), to freedom. The movement of grace in our lives toward freedom is the mystery. So we simply say “Thanks.” 

Something had to give, and I don’t have a clue how to get things to do that. But they did, or grace did. 

Anne Lamont 

Help Thanks Wow – The Three Essential Prayers

Yes, grace thus far, but fit grace. 

Grace, grace, grace. 

May 

Mercy, peace and love

Be Multiplied. 

To you. (Jude 1:2)

 

Palm Sunday Sundown 

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Palm Sunday, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

There’s a wide open field sitting catticorner as I turn down the last turn towards home. 

If I stay for church after choir, I’m affirmed in my choice because this field always causes me to stop.  No one around, I let the window down and I pay homage to the display, the sun is going down in a splendid way for me. Always does here. 

Tomorrow will be a new day. 


I consider it all together; the day, the words, the verses showing themselves as I waver over my thoughts and questions, lately enigmatic, where do I go from here? 

Maybe nowhere just yet. Linger, Lisa. 

He makes everything beautiful in His time. 

Become not overwhelmed with lofty what if or when. Let not the discernment of your thoughts be based on anything other than the loudly clear truth that comes when you get quiet and still. 

It’s then you notice what matters, not the validation of others; but, the undeniable notice of one, my Heavenly Father. 

 It happens by surprise, your thoughts lovingly taken captive. 

I cried in church this morning. 

My thoughts drifted during the sermon. I noticed the tiny little footnotes marked by teeny tinier numbers interspersed with scripture. 

I read ahead a little of the sermon on the three crosses and the thieves and skipped to the place marked “The Death of Jesus”. 

“It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭23:44-46‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I was curious about the explanation marked by footnote, so I looked more closely to understand. 

The time of day was noon, the sixth hour. 

The sun went away leaving what I imagine a large expanse of fear and darkness, of troubled minds, hearts and souls. 

It was dark until 3:00, the ninth hour, the middle of a day. 

Darkness marked the time and day,  Jesus died for the sins of us in between a man bold enough to be humble and believe and the other too proud, angry and defeated to accept the possibility of grace. 
I cried in church this morning. I read about the dark and sunless sky and I cried. 

I thought of Mary, his mother; but, mostly I wondered about God. 

I wondered if maybe God decided it was just too difficult to watch. 

Now, I’ll tell you that’s not scriptural, still I wondered if that may have been His reason. 

And I cried in church this morning over the darkness that marked death.  Had I not recorded it here, no one would know, that I sat next to my husband, looking down at my Bible and I cried. 

My tears were tender. They were soft and not for show, as if my reading of the black sky rested in my thoughts until a hand reached down somehow and clutched my heart, gently prompting a reaction I’d not let be forgotten. 

I’ve been journaling about the people who met Jesus. Women caught, found out, brought out and yet, redeemed. 

The intellectuals made to tuck their tails and turn from places in the sand preventing stones hurled at “sinners”. 

I wrote about the woman at the well who met Jesus and then went about thrilled over all the bad he knew of her yet loved her. 

She told every single person about her encounter at the well. She was astounded in a joyously unabashed way. 

I cried at church today.  I cried to think of how God took away the sun in the middle of the day as his Son died for me and you. 

How could I not tell you of it, my tears and my redemption? 

How could I scarcely keep it in, the way the sun escorted me home the day I mourned its going away? 

Everything, beautiful in its time 

He makes it.  Darkness only lasts for a time, long enough to remind me of what matters most. 

This “calling”, this thing I call my treasure because God led me to name it so, it will flourish and it will grow to whatever size and benefit God decides will serve the purpose of his glory. 

I know some things grow best in the dark. 

Faith, especially, the strength our eyes do not see. 
Linking up with Michele Morin as she talks about her fears and a blind man who responded when Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do?”

Imagined Lives and Enough

bravery, Faith, grace, Trust, Uncategorized

I saw the prompt first thing, Five Minute Friday’s link up/join in on the spontaneously impulsive writing.  I always go over the time limit, still I like the idea of free flow.

And I love, loved it, a word already settled in my heart. I’ve finally found the place of enough, goodness, I hope I stay longer.

 


The word is “Enough”.  I thought, Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that, even made a proclamation of its value and convincingly told myself that enough is well and good and is well, enough.

Like the little corner in the room I call “writing”, I had lofty ideas for its design; but the Labrador has taken over the bed and I’ve yet to order the gallery pictures for the walls. Still, I made a little corner more special and I believe it’s enough.

Enough is a mindset easily tainted by comparison and imagined lives causing me to feel less than enough or mostly, lately…”How on earth would I find enough time to do the things they do so very well and smoothly?  Every place I gaze upon, I see helpful hint overload, guidance, encouragement like coursework on a syllabus to be followed. Do this, that, keep going, keep trying, keep writing. ”

Steals the joy of it really, sometimes, the joy of pretty sentences looked back over to cause my nod slightly when no ones around.

Yes, this is me, this is brave, these words match my thoughts. I imagine the lives of others having seamlessly designed days of basking in the satisfaction of completeness.

I imagine them more joyful because of it.

So, I’ve decided this and will do my best to stick to its conviction.

I will write a few words, eventually chapters and upon sending the words into the world, I will say to self and listen to self as I offer up prayer:

Lord, let this land in the face of one looking down, looking for connection, for reason and relating. Let me not reach to grab back for show or measure what I’ve given to you for you to give to another.

Lord, remind me of the joy of enough.

Linking up with Kate Motaug for Five Minute Friday.

http://katemotaung.com/2017/04/06/five-minute-friday-enough-plus-a-giveaway/

enough

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pausing

Faith, grace, Prayer, rest, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

I’ve not always been this way.

Maybe I have, I’d just been quiet about it.

Yes, that’s it. Always and ever aware of every speck of life around me, a keen sense of alert or rest, now though it’s become a present pause.

And because I recognize the significance of its prompt, to stop and be attentive, to associate my pauses with God,

I’m not concerned with keeping it a secret, this  beautiful life I’ve come to know.

The beauty of it all, the wonder of it all.

That God would know there would be moments I’d pause to see sunlight shadows across my freshly straightened duvet, a bed made in haste; yet, I pause now and smile.

At the realization of God, my comforter.

Because, I read and have cherished words like,

Calmness can lay great errors to rest. Ecclesiastes 10:4

Regardless of greatness of my error(s),  He is greater.

You may get to this place too, over halfway through your life, when you could care less if people call you too serious, less sociable than most or find it odd, your love of sky and bird, petals bright, of sound and glory.

Might get to the place that it will not matter, the glorious pauses with God far exceeding the fitting in with others, the moan and groan of our competitive inward striving doldrum of day.

Pause, when you see it, pause

Every time.

You will see.

On a morning like now, when the birds are silent telling of coming storm

And I’ve prayed for traveling mercy, knowing “He’s got the whole world in His hands.”

What a day it has been here in Carolina. We traveled mercifully and for many reasons, I’m thankful he kept us in his hands. 

Im linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She shares a beautiful and insightful piece on knowing “how to pray” and I’m humbled that she chose me again, by sharing my post  on strawberries and new towels, simple things reminding me of “enough”. 

This explanation of “teaching us to pray” is so very good: http://jenniferdukeslee.com/everyone-else-doesnt-know-pray/

Everything, Fine and Surrendered

bravery, courage, Faith, grace, mercy, rest, Trust, Vulnerability


Every little place, an intersection, crossing of path, if we pay attention.  A piece on prayer featured my simple words on content. 

A friend told me she couldn’t pull herself out of a helpless state. I told her how she’d not forgotten how to pray, just forgotten to be honest with God.

Told her to rest, to lay it all down before her body catches up with her desperately despaired and depleted mind. 

I’d find it odd, were it not for my belief. The way all paths cross, an exchanging of grace. 

Yesterday, I prayed.  

I moved from ten feet or so as I stood unable to not move.  I’d not considered need, felt it in ways it could not be made numb and found myself desperate to let my anxieties be known. 

And if you think of it, the need to let go, to tell, to unburden the heart in reply to invitation to move. 

It is such a small thing that leads to mighty owning up to. 

Now, I’m not one to be prompted to move. The whole force and demand or prayer like hitting knees for show in the sanctuary. 

This is not a thing  I do, in fact I reject, resist the demand.  I’m aware of the human need for attention, for embrace, I’ll not find fault. 

Everyone fights a hard battle, carries a secret sorrow. 

But,  I took those ten or so feet and I said to my pastor who’d sensed my struggle, his eyes finding the search behind my attentive gaze and he met me with his strong hand on my shoulder. 

I said. “I need to surrender my writing to God.” 

“Yes” he said and I couldn’t see his face, both of us bent down together. 

But, I felt his “Yes.” more than hearing or seeing could ever equate. 

He prayed and then said “It’s going to be fine.”

And I turned to return to my place on the pew, thinking what a thing to say; It’s going to be fine. 

It’s going to be fine.  My eyes are moist upon remembering. 

Today, I discovered my words noticed by another, shared as a Featured writer, my piece on contentment. 

I felt what I am lately calling an exchange of grace, of fine things.

In quiet confidence is my strength. Isaiah 30:15

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/