If not for Easter

Faith, grace, mercy, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Uncategorized

I read from the Old Testament.

I turn the pages back, I always do the hard things first, move on more confident in completing the others and feeling more connected and encouraged, courageous.

I stopped on a verse about bringing all things valuable to God, gold and trinkets and valuables, such things worthy of being offered at the throne of God.

I would have nothing to give. What on earth could I have given? Wedding rings and tiny diamond studs? Bracelets here and there, gifts from my daughter, my son? I’d bring them there and leave them. They’d pale in comparison to the mounds of others left seeking to be atoned.

“And we have brought the Lord ‘s offering, what each man found, articles of gold, armlets and bracelets, signet rings, earrings, and beads, to make atonement for ourselves before the Lord.”

‭‭Numbers‬ ‭31:50‬ ‭ESV‬‬


I underlined here.  I penciled in the margin.

What would I have to bring?

I flipped to Psalms and read the verses describing the people who could never be satisfied, who forgot about the wonders and good things of God.

Sometimes I forget, I remember.

Miracles like parted seas, food raining down from heaven and protection from horrific famine, terror and defeat…led by Moses because God told him he could and he believed, even when the thousands did not.

“They forgot his works and the wonders that he had shown them.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭78:11

Then, I return to the Book of John and I am open hearted and minded and perhaps, even excited.

Because, the Book of John and the people Jesus decided mattered when no one else cared, these are the people who are making me strong, the women like me.

I understand the woman Jesus greeted as she waited to be stoned, tried to be as hidden as she could.  I imagine her smile as Jesus tells the others, cast a stone if you’re free of sin. If not, go your way.

And they did.

I can see the surprise on the woman’s face who’d known many men when Jesus told her, I know you too.

It’s time to thirst no more for what has not quenched you before you. He gave her water, living water.

So she told everyone who she met and how she was changed.

And this morning, in John 20, I am reacquainted with Mary Magdalene, the one weeping over the empty tomb.

The one Jesus healed, her mind able to see more clearly, whatever demons had entangled her thoughts, he removed.

No wonder she called him “Teacher”. She longed to learn more.

Mary Magdalene was healed by Jesus.

Lots of modern day reviewers of scripture call her a prostitute. She had seven demons and she anointed the feet of Jesus. She was the first to hear him speak when all the others had lost hope.

She heard him say her name.

She called him “Teacher” and followed him from the time he turned her life around, to his grave. When she and the disciples discovered the tomb empty, they left.

But, she lingered.

Grief is complicated.

Sometimes we stick with sorrow because sorrow is all we have left that is them, the one we are grieving. If we discard or sorrow, what then will remind?

So, I believe on Resurrection morn, Mary lingered in the last place her Savior and her Teacher, the one who changed her had been.

It’s barely daylight, she’s alone but oblivious to the possible danger or question of others. A man appears as her head lifts from her chest. She thinks he’s the gardener, maybe a worker, maybe there to clear up the mess the ones who’d removed Jesus left behind.
She asks if he knows where the body has gone.

“They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Jesus asked why she was weeping.

She turns and Jesus says, “Mary”.

She answers, “Teacher” and goes quickly to tell the others he lives.

“I have seen the Lord.”

I have not seen and it can be hard to believe; but I do. 

And if it were not for Easter, I’d not be free.

This I know, this I believe. 

I’ve not enough valuables or golden and cherished jewels to atone me. 

Grace, grace thus far. 

And mercy. 

 Because of mercy.

Mountains, moved 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, yes, still mountains can be moved. 

Peeking behind the blind, the sun is rising. 

The mountain has been moved.  

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

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

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

It can be moved. 

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

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

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

It is well with me. 

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

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

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

Trust and Amen

courage, Faith, grace, mercy, Trust, Vulnerability

Begin, get lost along the

way. 

Come back. 

Find, then abandon, lose again,  yourself

in the place of believing in your word, your color, your marks, layered color and

or authentic story on page or canvas and

be glad that you’re glad no matter. 

Sit back, step back. 

Yes, this is me. 

Alleluia, Amen. 

Trust and Amen. 

Here’s something you may not know. 

I went to college on art scholarship but, I was not ready, got a little lost…30 plus years later, I am painting and it is joy. 

I missed my studio aka Heather’s old room…after a weekend away and no commissions to be fulfilled, so I painted this afternoon and into evening. 

This piece is a 16×20 mixed media on canvas…graphite, watercolor, pastel, acrylic with just a tiny hint of hymn peeking through…the words, Trust and Amen. 
Send a message if you’d like to purchase.

Sparks and Moon

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

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

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

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

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

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

I drive, exhausted and cold.  Blank. 

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

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

In the periphery of my blue eye. 

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

Then I remember and remember sweetly well. 

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

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

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

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

Going home for Christmas. 

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

Sparks flying up and the 

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

Morning Call

Uncategorized

One of the gifts of blogging is finding other writers and thinkers who write or share writing that stops you because of the truth and beauty of words. This blogger, David Kanigan, reads my blog. I most likely will never meet him; but, because another very good friend and encourager, Ray Visotski convinced me I could write, I discovered the wisdom and beauty of words more so than before. 
So, don’t stop here…read this blog today if you feel like you’re taking 10 steps back as opposed to only a few forward. 
Happy Wednesday !
Morning Call

https://lisanne3015.wordpress.com/2017/03/15/morning-call

Live & Learn's avatarLive & Learn

Today, if you’re confronting an issue for the ten thousandth time, or feeling that your life is going nowhere, or panicking over how little you’ve achieved, stop and breathe. You’re not falling behind on some linear race through time. You’re walking the labyrinth of life. Yes, you’re meant to move forward, but almost never in a straight line.

~ Martha Beck, from The Labyrinth of Life

Notes:

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See, Jesus

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, my goodness.

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

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

Mercy, humility, and kindness.

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

Micah 6:8

 

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

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

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

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

because I only wrote a story, not a book.

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

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

fluttering by on a cold morning calling me out.

Help me to see, Jesus.

See, Jesus

 

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

 

Light In

Uncategorized

I wake up and realize it was right to pray that prayer I prayed.

It was accurate, that nudge, intuition.  It was God finding my mind settled enough to pause and then pause again.

So, I prayed that prayer again and then let it lie.

The light comes in loudly some days, house so quiet you can hear the morning.

This is my happy way of life.

I crave the undistractedness of morning.  I love its pattern.

IMG_5822_kindlephoto-1298875IMG_5820_kindlephoto-1057294IMG_5821_kindlephoto-1174194

 

Wrap myself in the seeping in of light, have paper ready to soak up the spill of reminders and sometimes profound, new and too just right to believe epiphany.

Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will

tell you what he has done for my soul.

Psalm 66:16

A few weeks ago, my pastor suggested we all write a “mission statement”.  I love the idea because I love stuff like that, because I like to chart my thoughts and my life that way.

If I believe, Jesus said, from my heart will come a flow, a spring of living water. John 7:38

I’d love to know this true of me, that others see life through the brave flow of my heart’s words.

Now, I can’t say why, now. But, it happened, the flow of beautifully real.  The light maybe, the quiet, maybe the prayer started the pencil to moving like a tethered cord to heart to mind, let’s pull gently and let it stream cross the morning into reality.

So, here it is as it came today, light came in.

 I want to make up for lost time, the trapped time, the hidden time…want to make up for the lost time by doing all the things God gives me to do. I want to believe in chances as more than random luck, to see opportunity as providence and success as testament of my salvation through Jesus and because of mercy. To know my treasure and to know I’m treasured, not hide from the light. Let others see, tell them my story.

My mission statement came in like light, warm and welcoming truth. To God be the glory for the gift of quiet confidence.

Closer to Strong Walking

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

Yesterday, I said something scary out loud. It was literally only seconds in the day and just a second admission thrown into the use of parallels on my path.

I woke up at 4:21 and it began, the script. Why it’s hard to ask for help and why I know. Clearly, it might be hard to share.

Clearly, I would.

Women who are homeless, it is hard for them to ask for help, I informed the audience of a hundred or so.

It’s a misconception, the whole handout mentality we’ve formulated for women who are homeless.

Told them I knew. Told them I say “your story is my story” to the women in our shelter and they may think what I mean is their story is mine for the sake of telling the whole world so I can ask for donations.

“But…” I added, “their story is my story because I’m the daughter of an alcoholic, a rape, and abuse victim and for a short time, a single mother.”

“So, I understand not feeling like I’m worthy of help or being ashamed to ask for help.”

Someone told me last week, “You have to bring light to these dark places if you want to be free.”

There’s no shame in abandoning the comforts of darkness, of uncovering hidden places of shame.

There’s freedom in throwing back the covers like morning light welcomed as new day.

There’s a man in the Bible laid flat and miserable by his plight. He’d been an invalid for 38 years. What a perfect but ugly word, invalid, yeah… maybe he thought, “I know there’s nothing valid about me, I’ll just lay here.

No one has ever cared enough to help me, and I’ve quit asking for help.”

Then Jesus walks by, says “Do you want to be healed?” John 4:6 ESV

The man answers that there’s no one to get him from his place of misery to the place of healing, plus, somebody else is always beating me to it.

Jesus said, “Get up, take your bed and walk.” And at once, he was healed. John 5:8 ESV

“Get up, Lisa, take your story with you.”

I understand.

Later on, I talked with women who’d heard my words. Some gave hugs. I accepted them as love, not flattery or consolation.

There’s a difference.

A few were shocked by the disclosure. It mattered not, though, for I’d gotten up and taken my miserable self closer to the healing.

Brave healing, I dipped my feet in the pool of grace.

No regrets, no looking back towards the place where I’d been laying.

Closer to stronger walking.

Taking more steps.

Closer to telling for good.

What a busy week I’ve had.  Still, I tucked Jennifer’s story away because her Anna made me think of my Analise and then, as the week unfolded, I began to think of healing, of healing through sharing.  I’m glad that the Dr. who treated a precious child was brave enough to say he opened his hands to God to be used.  Glad Jennifer opened her heart to share, glad she stirred my heart to move closer to strong.  I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and other talented women who are using their stories for good. 

Visit her here:  http://jenniferdukeslee.com/unexpected-grace-praying-doctor-end-rope/

 

Angel and Song

Uncategorized


I gave my girl a painting.

Saw it on her nightstand last week. I helped with fresh, thickly clean sheets.

We made the bed.

I glanced towards the table next to the breeze of drape.

Said, “Your angel is pretty there.”

She said,

“I know.”

Blessed Assurance, she had the page from a hymnal tucked in a little trinket on her chest of drawers.

So, I painted an angel and put it in her stocking for Christmas, thought,

I remember her loving that song.

“This is my story.

This is my song.”

I told her tonight. I’m afraid of all the things God is doing.

Angels, stories, a book.

And she said, “Just say Thank you, God and

Be happy.”

And I remembered why I call her

My sunshine.

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭37:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“When we walk with the Lord..in the light of His word, what a glory he sheds on our way…Trust and Obey.”

Book Review and Giveaway- Choosing Real by Bekah Jane Pogue

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

I opened this book quite convinced there’d be nothing relatable for me. 

I did what women do, pictured Bekah Jane’s pretty little life in her pretty little sunny home surrounded by happy boys and handsome husband, and decided I think I’m too old, too much a contrasted life to relate. 

Perhaps, jealousy veiled the door. After all, her name’s on a book and mine is not. 

I began Choosing Real on a Sunday afternoon. Sunday means church to me, choir, if on a set day it means leading Missions. 

Sunday feels like work sometimes and most days I’d rather just rest.

Bekah Jane understands. Like me, she has spent many hours of her days working, planning, showing her efforts to herself and God. Barely into the first few pages, my pencil is making pretty little gray asterisks already. 

You, my friend, you don’t have to work so hard. You don’t have to strive to perform, because God is already in it.  

I understand, Bekah. I’m sure we’re not the only ones, little girls wanting to believe Jesus loved us…loves us, really. 

Less than a page or two over, here’s this gem, this rock solid truth refined and precious jewelry. 

How could I follow a Jesus I didn’t have a real relationship with other than what I did for Him?  

Yes, this is the beginning of understanding, of the wisdom finally seen clearly through another. 

Finally, I am  understanding surrender through this book. Surrender is not a strapped down performance based response because of self-condemnation over never enough or not enough consistently! 

Breakthrough here.

Yes. That truth came to me in these pages. Bekah is an event planner and so she’s all about arranging, inviting, I imagine beautiful and welcoming occasions. 

Surrender is simply saying, I’ll come along, Jesus to the events you have planned for me. 

I know that you have some very special occasions you’d like me to fully attend, to be present, to enjoy, to accept as opportunities to dine with you while dining with others at a table large with glorious grace and graces to share.

I struggle to convey how big was this epiphany, this new view of surrender so I’ll use another’s clarity from the book,  Bob Goff. 

Every day God invites us on the same kind of adventure. It’s not a trip where He sends us a rigid itinerary; He simply invites us. 

God asks us what it is He’s made us to love, what it is that captures our attention, what feeds that deep indescribable need of our souls to experience the richness of the world He made. And then, leaning over us whispers, ‘Let’s do that together’.

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I’d love to create a little list of all the places this book touched my heart.  

Bekah speaks of grief over the loss of her father in a way so real I simply wish we could meet so I could run across the room without reservation and hug her so, so tightly and say “Me too.”

Grief leveled her. Grief changed her. I understand. She and I are one in this ache  that comes round and round. 

Friends, I’ve only barely skimmed the surface of this book and it’s importance for us all. 

Last week, I attended a fancy meeting. I couldn’t wait to leave, worried over being a guest, not a member and shunned over wearing the wrong shoes or being less notable a person than others.

I sat in my car and said. “I’d rather be real.” and the sun warmed my face as I looked towards blueness of sky. I paused there in the parking lot, okay with belonging to quiet over club. 

I paused, content in being more real me than ever, a place of peace and acceptance. Happy to be real, not rich. 

Later, I painted and I will again today. This ministry born of sketching me in margins, an invitation to abandoned joy it has become. 

Work, before. Over 39 years ago, I longed, ached, tried and failed to be an artist. Now, I simply long to paint, to write, to bravely create from my heart. 

Choosing Real ends with an invitation to proclaim,  a beckoning to consider believing I matter, an exercise in embracing God’s long ago promise. 

You matter. 

I have a copy of this book I’m anxious to pass on. I know it will end up where it belongs because God placed me here on this chilly Saturday morning to share my heart and its significance with you. 

Leave a comment and at random, I’ll choose someone to send a copy, wishing I could send to all! 

Choose real. Accept God’s invitation to surrender to life when our plan gets messy or even grief and chaos ridden. 

Reach out, take His hand and remember, surrender is not selfish defeat or dismay…it’s saying “Yes” to believing Jesus has some amazing and “really real”  things, amazing days he awaits our acceptance of invitation. 

Acquaint yourself with the wisdom and heart of Bekah here: http://www.bekahpogue.com/

*Thank you to Stephanie Alton at the Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc. for allowing me to review this book and for providing a book for the giveaway this month.