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/

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/

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/

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/

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/

Mindfilledness

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

I have a friend who is a therapist, yoga instructor and a quite beautiful singer. Her voice is smooth, her tone steady and open to my turning.

He redeems my soul in safety from the battle I wage. Psalm 55:18

She talks about trauma like David thought of Goliath.

As if to say, “I know you’re lurking, come at me, I’m stronger than you know.”

Oh, the mind filled messes we all hide away, stuff under the bed or way, way back in the dark corner of our dusty attic minds…

Thinking, “I know you’re still there; but, I have no need for you whatsoever…stay up there, away, I know you; but, have no need to bring you out.”

Trauma and memory, fine ’til they can’t rest and start to dance together, way past midnight in our dreams.

Last night, I watched a movie. Rare for me because I despise the “F word” and I have no desire for sex that looks like proud display of nastiness and shame.

The movie, “Woman in Gold” and the actor a strong and determinedly beautiful woman scarred by the siege of Hitler.

The one scene, the one that stirred up my thoughts, she is afraid to go back and remembers fleeing before being taken prisoner.

She melts down. I saw it in her eyes, Helen Mirren portraying trauma splendidly well.

She faced it. It was so very debilitating, just for a few seconds.

She knew her giant.

Would not concede.

I dreamt in color of scary things last night, of being held captive, of being harmed.

It was clear and real. It was a true story, true of my story.

Still, I woke and said to myself.

You know the reason for the dream. You know the games your mind plays either you let it become filled with the messes or you pause to be mindful of its seed.

I thought of my friend as I practiced mindfulness and rose to begin my day unscarred by the night and its thoughts.

Birds singing to celebrate the early bloom of forsythia and azalea, of hope, truth and quiet confidence.

Feathers found reminding of grace singing over me.

Filling my mind with things to grab hold to, store up, win battles with.

I’m linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee who is changing the way I see “happy”.

Tell His Story

Memory and Verse

Children, Faith, family, Motherhood, Teaching, Uncategorized

Sometimes we only remember our “memory verses, ” and we miss the most meaningful conversations God wants to have with us through His word. The conversations between believers, encouragers, and teachers, they catch me off guard sometimes and make me just glad. I forget I’m reading an ancient book, it becomes such a novel like a story, the characters captivating me, the reader.

In the second of the Timothy books, Paul reminds young Timothy of the spirit God gave him and that it is not a spirit of fear, exhorting him, sending him off to carry out his duty.

It’s a popular verse. I’ve used it, heard it, shared it and prayed it. “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” II Timothy 1:7

Just before turning here I’d prayed that God would make me a more wise leader, that he’d help me understand his way in situations I face. I prayed I’d be more an example, that I’d serve more than lead, be an encourager.

I prayed that my children would have moments in their days that they remembered God and God would catch their attention with something beautifully unexpected, that he would equip them for their days.

Paul was preparing Timothy by reminding him of his unique gifts from God along with the power of the Holy Spirit.

But, Paul did something even more special, maybe he sensed he needed a different approach. I love it when the scriptures are conversational, I’m there with them, and I can see Paul like a coach, a mentor, even like the guy in the Karate Kid, giving ancient wisdom and personal experience to say… “You can do it.”

Maybe, though it wasn’t fear or timidity over the task. Maybe it was more a question of why me, how will I or there are so many who are better, more ready.

So, Paul says to Timothy. “Listen, young man, I know your mother. I remember your grandmother. I know they had sincere faith and so I know that same faith dwells in you.” (vs.5)

“Yeah, well you have a point. I have some strong and faithful women in my family.” I imagine him lifting his head and with a halfway smile of assurance nodding, maybe his mama and grandma standing in the shadows with sweet smiles.

May my faith be sincere Lord, like the faith of my grandma, the one I remember. May it be steadfast like the one I never got to meet but, only heard stories of her strength.

May my faith be sincere and my perseverance be unwavering like my mama.

May people say to my children, “I know you can do it, you’ve got the faith of your mama in you.”

May my faith be more evident each day to them

and to me.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee

Read her beautiful story of how giving gives us just what we need! :

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/find-way-darkest-dark/

Peace, Strength, Bright Hope Tomorrow

Children, courage, Faith, grief, praise, Trust, Uncategorized

I’ve resorted to setting my alarm again. There was a time it wasn’t necessary, I’d wake cause my body knew it was time and moved, alert and following my mind.

But, lately I linger in the place I’ve come to rest. The place where the light comes in, I linger here, a chorus has stirred me slowly.

It’s a funny thing, I hesitate to tell.

Ive been waking with a song. I’ll remember an old hymn or new praise and I suppose God is setting a tone. On Monday, it was “leaning , leaning, safe secure from all alarm.”

I reached for a cup realizing I’d postponed putting the dishes away. All the plain ones in the front, like a song upon waking, I look for a vessel for my coffee. I’m mapping my day.

Oh. I see it, pushed to the back.

A gift from my daughter, one of the many.

Thoughts and little gifts, sparking a recognition of my need, subtle sayings that say, “Get over yourself or get through this, you can.”

There are three funerals of good people who lived long, good lives this week, the week of the day remembering of my mama’s passing.

I get word of a young man who gave up and tragically died and I read the obituary of a mother without hope.

Both, only a quarter of a century of life lived thus far, that far.

” It’s happening a lot.” she said, meaning family members and older people.

I agreed, “Yes.” thinking, more by suicide. This is work; still it is my life, life.

It is morning again, the one after I woke to drink from the cup of peace and I feel as if I’ve toiled all night, I wake early for fear of sleeping too late. Today’s cup, paisley pink and purple swirls, a gift from my son.

The message, even more subtle, a boy on a trip with his buddies, used his spending money and thought of his mama, “Got something for you.”

And I sing a song for the day as I turn towards work, thinking yesterday I cherished quiet and I was thoughtful and trusting.

“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!”

Today, more celebratory in early morning blue sky, suddenly bright with joy and tomorrow…

Tomorrow is yet to see and be seen, to be partaken of.

I’ve got the coffee ready for my rising.

Great is Thy faithfulness!
Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided,
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to “Tell His Story”

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/learned-life-beautiful-bumpy-road-faraway-island/

My Little Eye

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

Epiphany -January 6th

There are a couple of words I love most in my collection of “perfectly pretty words”.

The way they sound when they’re spoken by me, at least from my perspective is just special, significant and kind of sweet.

And the way the letters are so balanced and artful, their dots and intersected cursives making their mark on my pages.

I love them. Two in particular, vignette and epiphany.

I love a pretty place on bedside table, a collection of unevenly numbered things, a clock, a pebble, a book or a candle, framed photo and glass jar filled with pretty pencils. I step back or sit next to a spot, eyes drifting over to my “vignette” and I smile.

I opened the planner on my desk left clean for my return after Christmas. Not marked yet, I turned to January.

Paused when I saw it, “Epiphany” , it’s tomorrow, the 6th.

Epiphany, the day that marks the time the Magi encountered Jesus, the newborn, Son of God.

I use the word when I stop suddenly upon a realization of truth or a long sought understanding.

I use it when the waiting and the hardest parts of my life show me their worth, their lesson, their value.

“Oh, I just had an epiphany.” I’ll say to myself, its validity a personal and precious gift.

Epiphany, an intuitive revelation. Intuition, another especially beautiful word.

Like “vignette” as description makes the ordinary arrangement more special, “epiphany” makes our realization more heart and soul.

This morning I read a verse from Psalms that made me think of striking out on my own and the paths I’d rushed towards or stumbled through in search of desire and destination. The things I see when I wait to see through God’s eyes are much grander, established, settled, safe and sure.

“I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭32:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

This verse makes me smile. I can hear it now….the voice of one or the other of my children. ” I spy…with my little eye.” I’d love that pause between spy and with because I knew their little minds were thinking about what might be hard to find and how much of an adventure it would be for us to either find it or give up!

God never takes his eye off me. I believe there are good things he wants me to seek…to stay right beside him, to depend on his not so little eye.

Or like a lost and disoriented misguided mule without reins, we’re either uncertain or overconfident. Lacking direction and stubbornly impatient.

Because, I spy with my little eye only a tiny bit of the light of what’s to come, like a skinny strip under a midnight door, I can see just enough to get by.

Then, I stop looking for it or remember to see it

little vignettes and silently sought epiphanies

revelations of God.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee at Tell His Story

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/magical-habit-lingering-free-journal/

Towards Grace

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Prayer, rest, Salvation, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

On the first day of new, I wrote a prayer and called it “Winter”, knowing that what I write, I might retain.

I found it beautiful then. It was descriptive and true.

Grace found

Pausing to look it over, gray lines and loops on thin white paper, I pondered the seven days since I’d already begun to fear.

Welcome, Winter.

May your arrival bring new things.

May I be unafraid of your truth

and of mine.

May I hold fast to a promise uttered for others and for me,

a breakthrough is coming, it’s about to be time.

This morning I sat in a dim space. The morning faded by moist and thick fog led me to linger. I read and wrote, three or four lines at most. The quiet of the morning, too much of a calm nothingness for me to move.

I listened and heard a dove in the distance. Its coo was quiet, then more clear, then quiet again. The notes of its song danced like black squiggly shapes on sheets of music.

I listened and thought of grace.

Grace, manifested, making itself evident, the only other sound the tick of the clock on kitchen wall.

The cooing of the bird becoming conversation, for me, I decide.

I waited. It continued.

It quietens, so I move, unfolding the quilt from my bare feet.

I think of seeking the sound, the sight of grace.

For months, I walked almost daily with lens pointed towards the sky. Random shots of clouds that called me to notice. The sky, like dove song, I’m certain was always for me.

Grace, manifested. Grace, rediscovered.

Had never moved, not been removed nor withdrawn, I’d just stopped looking. Maybe I’d become comfortable in the apathy of apprehensive unknown.

Sometimes we do these little things like “quiet time” and journaling and they’re nothing short of cliched habit, practicing a trendy social sharing, searching for a word to declare will carry us through the day…like wearing our badges of honor to mark our fading faith.

Then, we see grace.

We feel it. We hear it because it was not of our making, we got silent and still enough to see God.

I’m looking again. I’m noticing again. It’s a quiet and private practice.

Earlier today, I was captivated by a presentation. Watch and listen:

Are you listening?

A video created by a photographer, the intent to capture the emotion of 2016. It’s hard to watch. Hard not to watch. The voice of the narrator is reminiscent of the sweetest teacher a Southern girl may have ever known. It’s a voice that is somber in its serious tone, broken in its cadence.

If voices were visible emotion, her’s would be the drawn face of sorrowful acceptance.

It was hard to watch, such an accurate commentary of our time, our distress.

Hard to watch, yet, impossible not to take notice.

I watched and still, I thought of grace.

I thought of Job and his refusal to give up on God, his dismay, his defeat and his holding out and holding on to see grace again when they all told him it was not to be found.

No more grace for you, curse what you’ve decided to count on for good and accept that your doubts have come true. His wife, his friends, the bodies of his children cried out. Job 2:9

I thought of the sky that I turned to notice once the fog had cleared.

The open spot where the blue came in.

That’s the place that reminded me of my Winter prayer

and eventually, again, of grace.

Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. Psalm 86:6

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/want-give-2017-even-starts/