Walking under Pink Sky filtered in the Gray

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

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Late summer days felt long last week.  I walked late in the evening, forcing myself to move, not sure I’d be better for it.  Two days with music and Colt, the humidity still as ugly and thick as sludge.  Returning home, up the curvy hill, feeling nothing more than well that’s done for today. Heavy, exhausted and thinking about way too much, my days ended that way early last week.

Then, on Thursday I walked alone.  It was even later than before and I was embraced so sweetly, feeling change in the air, a wispy cooler breeze.  My walk, more patterned, the sound of shoe firmly hitting pavement, tap the ground with toe, raise the heel, walk on Lisa, walk on.

I walked head up, glancing one side then the other encompassed by sky, cloud and treetop; I began to let go the piles of mental junk mail, recycling the good.

The sky is changing now with the season.  The blue is more azure, the clouds more shadowy gray and foreboding and just at the right time of day, a tapestry of a sweetly, subtle pink in contrasting texture.

And so, that evening I had space enough to ponder faithfulness, of God.20150902_200624-2

How every morning last week, the geese flew over our back yard when Colt and I were out. I’d stop to listen as they approached and say to myself “Here they come. ”  not in my voice, but my mama’s.  I was taken back to the dock and the  contentment of simple expectation fulfilled, of geese flying over a pond, a simple sameness, a faithfulness.

A gift every morning. God’s, the geese and mama’s gift to me.

I thought of how these last weeks, God kept me still and quiet and waiting.

Less adamant in my jumping ahead.

I sense God now, in this time of change, guiding me.

The things that troubled, somehow have become smaller, resolved or resolving.

I topped the hill on our curvy road and looked ahead, almost evening then.  I stopped and waited, hoping to prolong the view.  This view, a faithful sky, a sunset and the promise of a flock of geese in the morning.

Your unfailing love, O Lord, is as vast as the heavens;
    your faithfulness reaches beyond the clouds. Psalm 36:5

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Because, God is faithful.

Because God believes in us even when we don’t believe in ourselves.

Sovereign over us…all around us.

Thank you Jennifer!

Thank you Jennifer!

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/when-god-calls-you-to-do-something-crazy-go-ahead-and-do-it-tellhisstory/

Feelin’ 55 and Flawless, my birthday song

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, praise, Trust, Vulnerability
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My family…God has blessed me with a good life!

I was anxious and grouchy last night (again).

Worried about how I might look today, needing a haircut, needing the right outfit, needing not to be discombobulated and nerved out!

I had an important speech to give about our important work with homeless families.  I needed to quiet the chubby, shy,  girl and become the professional, outspoken and articulate woman.

Man, that can be a challenge lately!

Problem is I had to be up at 5:15 on my 55th birthday.

I was grouchy going to bed and most likely annoying everyone around me discussing my changing appearance and my fatigue.

For weeks I had been announcing that I would be “double nickels” to the point of most everyone wishing it had come and gone. No matter what my husband said, I would snap back,  “I see the changes, there’s no need to tell me it’s not true.”

“I have a mirror, I am really aging. I might let my words get ahead of my thoughts. I either talk too fast or my slow southern drawl kicks in. And my hair, oh,  I need a haircut. Cover the arms, elongate the neck, keep my hands still, keep my shoulders back…they’re recording this for the campaign, it’s important!” I said.

“You’ll be fine.  I’m sorry you have so much stress on your birthday.” he said.

I needed to sleep last night.

I tried.

But, too much noise,  thinking, planning, and doubting kept me awake. I had one of those nights when the alarm is actually good, at least the struggle is over. Finally permission to give up on drifting into more than a few minutes of sleep. First thought this morning?  A song, a happy little upbeat song

Lying there in the quiet, early morning darkness, a set of lyrics phrase popped up and I’ve been celebrating all day this permission to have a happy birthday.

Words from a song I stopped to hear on Sunday, turned it  up loud glad to hear it again, twice on Monday.  Car singing, shameless stoplight karaoke:

“No matter the bumps
No matter the bruises
No matter the scars
Still the truth is
The cross has made
The cross has made you flawless”
Mercy Me

So I navigated my morning with the words becoming more real with each repetition. The gift of a song you can’t get our of your head, the message of grace, of God’s opinion of me on my birthday and every day.

What a gift, to be seen as flawless.  The cross has made me flawless.

Short of time, no leisurely coffee sipping couch morning;  I scribbled a quick journal entry prayer marked 8/11

Lord, help this be the year I truly see me as you do.  Help me to embrace the me that you would have me be, made me to be.” 

I remembered a special gift then. I paused to notice the words on the pretty little cross, slowing down to recall the verse.

The words beckoning me to believe the phenomenal love of  God.  The cross, a birthday gift a few years back from my soon to be son-in-law, hangs in my bathroom,  supposed to be a daily reminder.20150812_082309_kindlephoto-22573737

18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully.  Ephesians  3:18-19

 

The meeting was good.  I made it on time. I choose a bright pink dress instead of beige or black and I used words that made sense!  My hands were still and  people were attentive. I used words that made sense, and were impactful.

The right words at the right time are a blessing according to the Book of Proverbs…another gift!

“The presentation, the organizer of the event said, was flawless.”

“Thank you, Lord for words to songs, words on crosses.  Thank you, Mercy Me and you, Lord, for the intricacies of my mind.  For planting a song in my mind and on my heart today, a birthday song.”

A song of  “Good morning, Lisa.  Remember you are flawless.”

“Could it possibly be
That we simply can’t believe
That this unconditional
Kind of love would be enough

Still the truth is
The cross has made
The cross has made you flawless.”

Read more: Mercy Me – Flawless Lyrics | MetroLyrics

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Key Lime Cake…my girl can bake!

Happy Birthday, me!

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/three-of-the-most-important-words-you-could-say-tellhisstory/

Thank you Jennifer!

Thank you Jennifer!

Are you here yet?

Uncategorized

Everything started moving really quickly.  May felt like two days, not a month. Your birthday, on the 29th and I thought,   “Didn’t we just get done with Christmas and your first car and making the AllStar team with your buddies, all lined up, gangly legs swinging along the side of the pool?”

Seriously, wasn’t it just a little while ago that bedtime meant Spot stories and afternoons were Tellie Tubbies and Clifford the Big Red Dog?  I feel like it was just yesterday, on a Sunday just like today…warm outside, summer time waiting for us to get home from church…that you caught me off guard, stepping from our pew and down the aisle to open your heart and life to Jesus.  And I cried, not big showy tears, sweet soul-filled tears.

And it seems not so very long ago that you’d fall asleep in my bed.  Not long ago that I’d pick you up from daycare to find you usually on the playground. I’d walk towards the window after gathering your things and I’d watch for just a bit. Mamas do that.  Sometimes you’d be sitting in the sand and I’d smile because I knew your sharp little blue Keds and socks would need to be emptied first thing.

Sometimes, it seems I’d find you in thinking mode. You’ve always been my thinking child.  And I could see you watching the other little boys and girls, content to sit and gaze.  I can see so clearly your little elbows on your knees, your chin cupped in your little hands. Or sometimes running around, laughing as you toddled on cute, chubby little tan legs, blonde hair glistening from the sun.

But most of all, I saw you waiting, your face intently focused and your little mind’s clock anticipating my arrival,  waiting to hear my voice, your name…”Austin I’m here.”

Are you here yet?

Are you here yet?

And this is why I can’t take my eyes off this one shot.

My daughter, making allowances for my lack of discretion,  captured this gem.   I told her…”Catch him looking, he’s scaninng the room.  Hurry, get that shot!”

 My son, looking to see if I had arrived.  Waiting to see me there. On the day of his graduation, knowing I was there, but looking for me in the crowd. Until finally a barely noticeable, understated nod and just a hint of a reassured smile.

Because he had been waiting to know, I was there.

Be assured,  “Austin, I’m here.”

More clearly, now.

Children, courage, family, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

 

Mama's, sisters, children

I called my daughter and asked her to check my roast. ” I think it’s gonna taste like grandma’s this time.” I said.

“You’ve never gotten it like grandma’s, mama” she insisted.

” I have a couple of times, check it.” I said. “I think it’s gonna fall apart.”

“You’re right, mama…it is…you did it this time.” she said.

Last week, my cousin asked what my daughter’s favorite cake would be, planning ahead for birthday.

“She loved mama’s pound cake or the thin layer chocolate.” I answered.

Cake and my mama….always consistently rich, no holds barred, exceptionally outspoken, rich in taste and memorable.

You got what you expected, anticipated.

When I think of my mama, I think of cooking.  I think of love expressed with joy.

I think of honest, simple, and no secrets…all expectations met.

Satisfied, satiated, blessed even.  Her cooking was art.

Her conversations, her opinions, her advice were the same.

No cutting corners,  nothing artificial, sometimes harsh.

Consistently honest and end of the story succinct.

Rarely soft or maternal.

She mothered the way she was mothered.

Industrious, focused and intentional.  Harsh at times. Vacant, disengaged, exhausted at times.

She was overwhelmed. I understand now.

More than almost anything last week, on Mother’s Day…for Mother’s Day

I wanted to write my story about my mama….about a feeling I had come to know.

To understand now.

An opportunity to express the peace that comes from experience.

A place of perspective I found, of understanding finally.

I positioned this sepia toned little story. Mama, my aunt, silhouettes of my children, me as a pretty baby….beautiful imagery, idyllic, almost perfect.

I began to write about a memory.

A time, an encounter left hanging around for some time.

Still, it was painful and it was a troubling, limbo type story.

I drafted and trashed.

Too hurtful.  Too honest. Too surprising maybe.

Edited and trashed.

The story of a cold, quiet night when I decided after months of drifting, disappearing, rebellious ignorance…to show up and ask my parents

“Why don’t you care?”

A story of the quiet of the room

The warmth of the fire, my palms hot behind my back as I waited

For answer, for punishment, for anger, for forgiveness.

For reaction.

Any attention is good attention for a wayward child.

No words except,  ” We did all we could do.”

I  left my family. I chased after the wind.

Got caught in terrible violent storm and

Stranded by choices

They stopped searching.

And so, that night, full of attitude and angst.

I blamed my mama.

But, she only listened in the quiet, daddy unmoved in agreement.

They had done all they could.

And I left, knowing then.

But, not realizing until now, more clearly now.

That this was truth. Is truth.

And I became still like a child, turned and left, beginning to see.

My heart not proud; my eyes not haughty. Psalm 131 :1

 beginning to hope in the Lord.

She did the best she could.

The best I could do has been far different.

More hands on.

More intentional “love you’s” or random  “love you’s”.

Daily affirmations or scripture sent in text messages

“Don’t forget I love you’s.”

Unconditional, my love for them, they are reminded in words.

Letters, notes, conversations.

Maybe overkill, so that love is not something cherished?

Can children become numb to our love?

Does independence lessen it’s worth?  Reduce their longing for it?

Is it not the special secret treasure I had hoped….this yearning to love better than?

I hope not, but maybe.  Flaws and failures, drifters sometimes.  Children are humans in a crazy, enticing, all about me world.

Pathways are prone to drift.  Roadmaps must be their’s not mine.

“God’s driving the bus, Lisa”  mama said

I’m really just a ride along companion anticipating and praying over departures and destinations.

Imperfect mama...loved children

Imperfect mama…loved children.

Grace comes when we are touched by ugly, but still love.

I can’t even remember when, because it doesn’t matter now.

I have forgotten.

But, one child questioned me.

Sort of “called me out”. It was hurtful and unexpected.

I didn’t react. On the outside at least.

Except to say  “I love you and always will.”

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“I always have.”

And there it was.

After all this time since the firm, vacant look in front of the fire.

Clarity like a knock upon my door…the knock of a scary, rebellious, unwelcome child you say will never be yours.

And I saw my mama loving me.

Withholding anger. Choosing not to bring out my hurtful wrongs.

I saw clearly.

More clearly now.

More honest. Life, love and my words.

“I can only write honestly.  Anything else is simply vacant, conspired, not wise.  Bravery is healing.” A lesson from this community of writers

But you desire honesty from the heart, so You can teach me to be wise in my in most being. Psalm 51:6

Honest love

Wise love

 

Thank you Jennifer!

Thank you Jennifer!

Answered Prayers and Tomorrows too Soon

Children, courage, Faith, family, Motherhood, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

Two big changes are coming all at once.

My daughter’s engaged to the boy, now a man, with the big truck with the Bible on the seat and the beautiful smile.

The future Mr. and Mrs. Benji Brown

The future Mr. and Mrs. Benji Brown

The one she woke me over 7 years ago to say. ” I’ve found him!”

And half asleep in the dark, I knew she was smiling.

I thought a long time that night of the sweet, determined confidence in her announcement.

And now, I see her tender smiling tears and I am joyously overwhelmed. To see her in love and preparing to wed, an answered prayer and blessing.

A year away but feeling like it’s tomorrow and tomorrow is feeling too soon.

Too soon for  happy, teary, joyful goodbyes

Goodbyes covered in prayers of blessing and “Don’t forget I love you’s”.

My tomorrows for now are spent intentionally reminding of love…mine and God’s and of being weepy at unexpected times in my day.

My daily text messages of scripture continues,  but my focus is intentional to show a more blessed me and a  joy-filled temperament…one that shows, not just speaks…one that lives out what I have spoken so long.

“You are a blessing to me”.

Still, the thought of a house without my daughter and my son moistens my eyes.

Weepiness is not really me.

But it is my heart and they are my heart, my soul.

So, in the meantime there are ways to move towards this time of the coming tomorrows.

Like standing in the center of their bedrooms after they’ve left for the day lingering in the quiet, yet noisy messiness  of their stuff.

Art and antiques on my daughter’s walls, bed made just so, heirlooms of her grandma’s, dried flowers from Benji, Bible, journals and massive amounts of clothing filling her closet.

Down the hall, sparse and organized, my son’s room,  a guitar and flags, hoodies, hats and an overabundance of shoes lined up in orderly fashion

College acceptance letters neatly stacked on the corner of his desk.  A lone blue folder, silver letters in marker “Citadel”.

Last week, I dropped him off for “Pre-Knob” overnight at The Citadel.

He turned the corner and walked alone under the canopy of oaks.

His posture was that of a man, broad shouldered, briskly walking towards his future.

I felt it.

I saw it in his steps,  a readiness to decide his future.

So,  I fell behind a distance and I  let him go.

 

Austin at Citadel, my sweet boy

Austin at The Citadel, strong and determined.

And I know…they have been taught along the way.

Teach your children to choose the right path, and when they are older,  they will remain upon it.  Proverbs 22:6

humble believer – the one believed to fail

Faith, family, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized

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Pretty soon, I’m taking a trip down country roads.

A neighboring county where the roads become pretty hills and valleys, oak trees and old barns, daffodils blooming freestyle.

I’ll be looking for an old country cemetery that might have one headstone marked with the name belonging to an ancestor on my daddy’s side.

An ancient military man named Jabez Hendrix.

My brother, connecting and seeking, a habit of his.

A longing, perhaps to understand more, to fill in missing pieces and endings to stories that might be clearer, happier and hopeful.

Just so happens Jabez Hendrix is buried close by.

In the meantime, I am fascinated by Jabez of the Bible.

Just a few sentences about one son in a family of several sons.

Likened to the runt of a large breed of pups.

The one that caused mama dog pain, scrawny and most likely not the pick of the litter. The son whose name meant “bore in pain”.

Yet, he believed and trusted God for more.

Was bold enough to grasp the possibility of a God who created all.

Was confident enough to request more than just enough

Was humble enough to ask for God to stay close by, to ask for God to keep his hand ever present.

Yet, he knew of frailty and falling  asking God, “keep me from evil.”

Jabez, born to fail, believed in more.

Asked for more and received.

I’m praying like Jabez going on four days now.

Thinking of the blessings God has for me.

The blessings I never thought to ask for

The people he wants to place on my path

The broadening of my territory, my influence and influencers.

His hand, at my humble request kept securely close

Keeping me from evil.

Oh, that You would bless me indeed, and enlarge my territory, that Your hand would be with me, and that You would keep me from evil…So God granted him what he requested. I Chronicles 4: 9-10

The one who was most shy, most awkward, most likely to hide away.

The one searching for identity and getting lost in life, disconnected, disowned, discarded

I am the one who believes, finally in God.

His hand upon me.

His placing and planning of my territory.

His keeping me from evil.

Loved by God, the one with less than hopeful beginning and rebellious crazy, scary middle.

Fascinated and acquainted with God’s Jabez

The humble believer.

A courageous soldier, ancient uncle, laid to rest in a country cemetery a country ride away.

 

 

Surprises, Too Wonderful to Know

Uncategorized
Makes me happy when skies are grey

Makes me happy when skies are grey

I saw the burden of “not knowing”  in a brighter, happier light this week.

It may not stick.

I may agonize over futures, decisions, delays again.

Most likely, sooner than I’d like, within the next few hours even, prayers and thoughts before sleep.

Mind wandering, scheming, planning, writing scripts and watching them play like a movie.

Vivid, detailed, believable happenings. Things I’m hoping for, hoping not.

Crazy, super lifelike scenes from our lives are the make-up of my mind.

A movie with a wedding, a grandbaby, I picture bouncy blonde and blue-eyed little tomboy.

Or me driving up to a stately campus and unloading boxes into a tiny room where the little boy who loved holding hands with me will be saying goodbye.

He will be pretending to be unphased. I will hold him in hug and get quiet as I leave.

It might be the sight of my beautiful daughter in her wedding dress, hair in sweet simple bun and her boyfriend’s tender face when he sees her at last.

I may let my thoughts form stories of illness, of loss, of hardship. Of fears that accompany age.

They may come. Happy times, hard times.

God has made the one as well as the other. I think about both.

Things too wonderful for me to know.  Job 42: 3

This Christmas my daughter surprised me.

She knows what a challenge I can be. Don’t ask what I want.

I like to be surprised with gifts.

I imagine her shopping and seeing the sunshine mug and thinking of me…of our song. Maybe she let her heart and sweet smile go back to our tiny little place in the country…her little head on my shoulder as I swayed in a sing-song rhythm.

“You make me happy when skies are grey.”  She might remember that when I had sung for so long and her sweet eyes still popped open once I got silent that  I’d add a random little story to the song, making up our special “Sunshine Song”

So, on Christmas morning, I opened the mug, looked over and smiled at my daughter.  “I found it a long time ago, saved it for you.” she said.

I held it close to my chest, the little yellow mug that says “You are my Sunshine” with a sunshine to meet me at the bottom when upturned, emptied.

How sweet is it to wait expectantly for a gift?

What if we thought of “waiting for God” as waiting for a gift, a surprise?

Not knowing what we’ll get, just knowing it will be good?

Like expecting a surprise, contentedly knowing something good will be happening soon.

Think of your heart’s desires, your heart’s longing aches of waiting.

He knows.

He says, shows us  ” I saw this for you. I planned it this way. I have been saving this for you when I knew the time was right.”

I have been

Blessed and surprised by God.

Haven’t we all?

Take delight in the Lord and He will give you your heart’s desires. Psalm 37:4

happy slumber

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

Slumbering

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

Glancing towards windows as I drove.

Hoping for homes illuminated by the magic of electricity.

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

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

Every blanket, quilt, afghan, cover or spread.

Beautifully, tidy and pretty.

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

Everyone’s recalling the storm of 2014.

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

The time we slumbered together next to the fire.

When Heather made the beds.

Remembering now, my eyes moisten from the sweetness.

The happy place in the storm.

The happy slumber.

 

 

Sharing my Heart

courage, Faith, Motherhood, Trust, Vulnerability

 

Show your heart

Show your heart, crows feet, age spots and scars

Yesterday was the Monday we all love. The day off that falls after the Christmas and New Year’s days off.  It always feels to me like a gift, as if the timing of the date knows we all got spoiled rotten in the holidays, school out, time at home, cold outside, just lounging days after Christmas.

A day off from work in January is a sweet grace period before we really step up our game for the new and resolute year!

Of course, yesterday, an observance of a powerful leader who spoke of peace and rest, not strife and unrest made it even more appropriate that we “pause” in January on a day off from work.

However, at 8:30 ish, I get a text saying ” I need you.”

The nonprofit agency I oversee operates a homeless shelter for single mothers and their children. We embrace our families and facilitate lasting change for them.

Our mission. Pretty effective words, right?

Outcomes based and inputs focused…all the language of grantors, corporate or otherwise. I have a reputation of doing my absolute best to do what I say. Employees know this foundational truth about me.

And I do try.

Our approach is to help women acknowledge their role in homelessness along with the bad hand life may have dealt them. Staff ( I am blessed) who have just the right combination of empathy and structure spend at a minimum of  an hour a week, just talking about challenges, setting attainable goals.

Still, just as we all come with our scars, many of the women have deep, deep scars resulting in a closed off and protective approach.

Scars, no matter how scabbed over can be ugly.

Trauma has a way of hardening, hiding and disguising hearts. That way, they can’t be broken again.

Yesterday, I sat with a mama who had decided she was not going to talk to us anymore. She was going to bide her time and avoid a certain key staff member. Something had been said and even though the staff member apologized profusely, she was not going to budge.

Unfortunately, because Nurture Home requires meetings with staff, this refusal, going on a couple of weeks now, would not be tolerated.

I would need to tell her she and her children were being discharged.

Arriving at the shelter, tension filled and unpleasant, I first talked with the children and mama’s. All were situated in the den, braiding daughter’s hair, little girls braiding their baby dolls hair. One mama working on a job application while her son played a game. I simply said in front of the children, “I know there has been some yelling and some people have been angry…that is not good.”

I spoke, to the boys and girls, homeless and afraid, and told them that I knew they needed a calm house to live in, so I’m going to do my best for our house to stay that way.

Children who experience trauma, unrest, instability are keenly aware of the dynamics, the mood, the possible violence in their home. They are skilled at trying to determine what’s next, how to stay safe.

I know.  I was one of those children.

So, I promised them that we want them to be happy and not worry while they are living in our shelter.

The 7 yr. Old raised her hand and said,  “I have something to say, I’m happy, because I have a home. Nurture Home is my home.”

And then, she asked if I could braid her doll’s hair.

Still, the angry mama was not budging. Her heels were dug in and she refused to talk with staff. She and three children, one who sat next to me, head resting against my chest, would be leaving.

So, we gathered for our “one on one”. We talked about what the staff member had done that she would not forgive. The decision had been made, she and her children will leave at the end of week.

I told her that I didn’t want her to leave without talking things through with the staff member before leaving.

Because, I said, I know what you are doing. If you are angry and if you stay angry and leave, you don’t have to trust again.

You don’t have to take the chance of being disappointed by another person you thought cared.

And then, I did the thing that’s taboo in my work.

 Self-disclosure…”don’t let your clients see your insecurities…they’ll use it against you, you’ll lose your power.”

I disagree. If my struggle is not used for good…it’s stays just that, my struggle, my pain, my scar.

I asked her to look at me and I said. “If you leave Nurture Home because you are afraid to trust, we have failed you. I see what you’re doing. We all have ways of protecting our hearts.  My childhood taught me to stay in the background, not cause problems, never challenge anyone who mistreated me. I stayed safe that way along time”, I told her.

“That’s not safe. That’s trapped. The victory is in being vulnerable and courageous at the same time, not tolerating bad, but being open to good”.

She cried. I held her. She cried again. I told her,  ” I don’t want to discharge you.”  “I don’t want to leave.” She said through tears.

Where is it safe to share your heart?

Go there.

Finding my key

Faith, Uncategorized
Blessings

Blessings

I was happy to make it to choir practice on Sunday.

I find my key by sitting next to a soprano because I still can’t be sure if I’m alto or soprano. So, I ease closer to the soprano with a beautiful, clear tone and find my key.

Next Sunday, I get the chance to sing a song that my voice finds it’s “sweet spot” in.  I love the song and the story behind it.

“Blessings”, written by Laura Story, as she and her husband navigated unexpected, serious medical crisis and recovery.

It’s an emotional song with verses I could carry off…not really as a vocal performance; but, simply a rhythmic sharing of lyrics imploring us to trust God’s plan.

His best in midst of trying times, of despair, disappointment, disillusionment

On the drive home I replayed the track over and over.

Practicing, embracing the words,  seeking to relate more significantly…preparing to convey its message next Sunday.

I thought of saying no to the request to sing because of a rough spot, two little lines that go from low to high.

My voice is a radio/shower/blend in voice.

Quiet and subtle. Not powerful.

I have to find my key, I kept practicing the couple of lines that jump from one to another key…a high one.

I sang the words…flat first, then screechy, strained.

Okay try again.

Maybe, I thought, if I just really and truly understood the meaning of the words?

Maybe I’m not “feeling it”.  Maybe I’m trying too hard. Maybe it’s not real to me.

So, I prayed “Lord, make this song real to me. Help, me to hear the message, the blessing, the key for me.”

And I just listened, heard.

And then, I sang in my key, from my heart.

Because, I understood.

“What if my greatest disappointments, or the aching of this life, is a revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy?”

Laura Story

“Blessings”

Every yearning, every expectation, each and every pretty little plan that has not come to fruition…has distressed, disappointed.

A return to salvation.

In returning and rest is your salvation. In quiet confidence is your strength.  Isaiah 30:15

Nothing of this world or in this world is capable of the thirst-quenching satisfaction of a closer walk, a consistent walk.

Dissatisfied?  That’s God’s intent, His design. His reminder that this world can’t satisfy.

Draw near, Stay near…find rest for your soul and the key for your song.