Pretty Words like Hope

courage, Faith, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

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What if we saw it as more than a word on a pin, this word, “Hope”?

More than a trendy phrase about an anchor, more than the middle word in the group of three?

What if we knew this emotion called hope as more than a

word in passing, a vague and wavering optimism?

“Well, I hope so.” we say, as if hope is nothing more than a rare and pitiful possibility.

This morning, I rose to begin the day from the space on the carpet next to my bed.

Groggy and thankful for the ease of waking like clockwork without a clock.

My folded up, sleepy legs found their way to bending knees to rest in a downward pose to pray.

This morning, simply, “Jesus, help me today.”

I read from the Book of Hebrews, chapters 4 -6 and found the familiar phrase there.

Hope, an anchor for my soul, a catchy quote, trendy phrase.

I colored in my margin, drew an anchor, a sky, an ocean and a moon. Mornings like this, and my Bible are gifts.

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Fingers blending dusty colored pastel, a delicate touch on the border of a fragile page, I thought of hope.

The middle child in the faith, hope, love family. Hope.

Reading the verses just before the one I knew by heart, understanding a little differently, more clearly and stronger today. This sweet little pretty word, what a mighty thing is hope.

I read the whole chapter, the whole book and saw hope, the way God longs for us to see…to see Him, our hope.

Saw it as certainty, read about histories and lineages of people who understood hope.

That hope is unchangeable.

Hope is God’s promise and we know he keeps his word.

I read that hope is earnest assurance and that we might sway, but hope cannot be moved once established.

Hope, I read, is a better thing for those God calls beloved.

So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise, the unchangeable character of His purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie,we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement

to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.

Hope, the place of pausing to rest my seeking knees, my open heart every morning, to be anchored in certainty.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.

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Seeing, Being Seen

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

Several times a day I might notice a bird

or the sky or like yesterday,

the most amazing magnolia bloom I could barely see just above the fence top.

I’ll pause and just get quiet, my eyes and my soul resting.

Sometimes though, I just rush about frustrated or pitiful, one extreme or the other, angst and longing.

Then I notice the sky. The vastness of empty space, yet fullness of God and I’m better then, more myself with God.

I’m always better in the moment of pausing to look towards sky.

I think maybe it’s my age the way I intentionally, perhaps accidentally notice God.

Maybe I am “the crazy bird lady” my daughter loves to call me.

Or maybe not, because she notices too now, and tells me about her red bird appearing outside the tall, curtain drawn farmhouse windows

following her as she moves from room to room to front porch.

Or maybe, just maybe I’m in the presence of God more clearly, not because He hasn’t been there all along, but

Because I’m okay with Him seeing me.

I’m not as often compelled to hide from the God who sees me.

Waiting to be seen, asking where are you?

Lisa, why try to hide?

You’re seen, you’re known, you’re loved despite your attempts to hide. You’re not hidden in the overgrowth, no need for that, listen, look…I’m here.

And they heard the sound of the Lord God, walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees in the garden. But, the Lord called…where are you?

Genesis 3:8

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to tell His story.

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Because of Honeysuckle

Faith, grace, praise, rest, Trust, Vulnerability

Tonight I met someone offended by faith. I didn’t know right away that their belief in not believing was a factor in their frustration.

I didnt know until I had begun to say goodbye and discovered in a random few words, they were devoid of faith, had decided to go it alone, were steadfast in their rebellion of its embrace.

Last night, I read a blog written by someone who’d decided the searching and seeking for God was a wasteful plummet into never quite good enough, never ever anything other than disgrace in the face of grace. I remember that lack, that lost.

The writer had decided to not be wrangled any longer,had decided to throw off the burden of impossible aspiring towards the good grace of God.

I thought of them both, I thought of the stubborn decision to not believe…to refuse to waver in their close fisted, closed mind and closed heart deciding to be independent of God.

I know God is in my days, in my details. I know my life before believing, when fear of measuring up led me to be convinced that believing was a venture down a path with no assurance of ever having a chance of arriving.

I remember those days of looking for God but not seeing Him.

I remember searching, being lost.

Worried he might see me, unaware that he always had and that what He saw He knew already.

Seeing God, believing God is nothing more, yet so much more than can be explained.

It’s encounter. It’s acceptance of being made, fearfully, wonderfully, knowingly and purposefully.

It’s yearning to walk with Him because you’ve walked without Him, without knowing His Son and believing in His mercy, accepting Him and His grace.

But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. I Corinthians 15:37

God is not an explanation, a reporting of data driven research.

God is relationship. God is personal.

God is a tender force, ever present, beckoning us to turn, to trust, to linger, to be at peace.

I paused to notice the flowers tucked in the shrubbery. The dog was patient as I stopped, thinking what is this bloom, not honeysuckle; there was no vine.

The fragrance of the bloom reminding of my days on dirt roads my children holding hands. I thought, how amazing is our earth that even blooms are family, even scents are in communion?

This is why I believe in God. Because my soul knows very well.

Moments like this, an evening walk, a blooming tiny flower and the timeliness of all of it

All at once to be noticed by me, by God.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. How wonderful are your works.

My soul knows it very well.

Psalm 139: 14

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee. Here’s a wonderful post about giving and generous acts unexpected:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/

Commas, Periods and Joy

courage, Faith, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized

I write grants. I deplore asking for money. That’s tough, but an honest admission.

What I enjoy so, so much is sharing stories of our work, compelling others to come alongside in giving.

Two big grants were denied within days of each other…one large in amount, one large in significance. Two things in my “pending” file that have now been decided upon, denial…not a comma, a period.

So, I decided to Let it go, Lisa. Turn the page. Close the book.

God is in control. Walk by faith. Period.

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The monthly Faith column contributed for April:

Grammar and God

I must admit there are times I could use an editor. In life and in writing I have a tendency to overuse the comma. Quite often and unnecessarily, I pause in the middle, hanging on to an idea, taking it down some path rather than closing with a firm ending, a period. If you’ve had more than a few conversations with me, you’ll know I can talk about a variety of things all at once. I have been told it can be hard to know whether I’ve finished with one thing before jumping to the next. I jump around and then pause, circling back to the beginning. I don’t think a comma would even help there. My life sometimes feels like a series of long run-on sentences.

A friend who is a wise conversationalist shared a bit of wisdom last week. Surprisingly, this insight came from a very young woman, a patient of hers. My friend, advising the young woman through trauma and life change, had been listening as her patient recalled her hardships. She paused, looked at my friend and said, “Maybe I should start using periods instead of commas.” She had essentially realized the time had come to rest, to accept certain truths.

In my desk, there’s a folder marked “pending”. About once a week I take it out, remind myself of its contents. I may remove a paper or finish a task left undone, but I don’t hassle over the items waiting. I leave them there in the place of pending. Life is full of waiting, wondering and pausing.

It can be torment to keep looking at what we don’t know, what’s not yet complete. We have commas and long pauses of doubt all over the places of our lives. What if we made prayer our pending file? Waiting would be less overwhelming. What if our lives modeled good grammar, God’s grammar? I decided to become more disciplined in my commas by adding more periods. I made a list of truths and marked them with strong, black dots of assurance, periods at the end of each. Have faith in God. Pray, and let God work. Trust God’s plan. God is good. God is in control. Let it go, Lisa.

The Book of James guides us in times of trouble. We are to expect trouble. We’re told there will be times we feel our “sentences” will never be complete, our circumstances unresolved, and our delays will lack an understanding. We will meet trials of various kinds. Do not doubt. Ask God. Believe. Don’t be tossed about. Ask in faith for wisdom, Amen, add a period.

Count it all joy when you meet trials. The testing of your faith produces steadfastness. James 1:2

Turn the page.

Close the book.

Re-read your Faith column.

Live what you believe.

Count it as joy.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee as she reminds us all of the miralce we are, the miracles within and around us…http://jenniferdukeslee.com/miracle/

Prayers Left Alone

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

Mary loved Jesus.

She’d wiped his feet with her hair.

She’d spent time in worship while Martha was bitter, angry and anxious over his presence in their home…worried she might not be good enough still.

Martha and Mary both struggled over the delay in Jesus coming to help their brother. He was dead.

I imagine they felt, “Well, not all my prayers and struggles matter to Jesus”

I’m the same way.

One prayer spoken can bring what seems an immediate resolution while another lingers unresolved for what feels like years, sometimes is.

Mary waited quietly.

Martha, still anxious and panicked, ran out to ask “Why so long?”

Mary had the same question; but, with a surrendered approach, a desire to understand and grow, she went out to welcome Jesus.

I want to be like Mary; to hear Jesus say “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” John 11:40

Most days I’m so uncertain of prayer it’s almost a passing thought.

A passing thought like early yesterday morning.

My daughter called. Her wallet was lost; somewhere between job, soon to be new home, and her bedroom here. We’re transitioning, a wedding very soon.

She will be moving out.

My house is in total disarray. Doors are closed to rooms that have become storage units and pretty little spots are unorganized and off kilter.

I searched everywhere, finally the laundry room.

Standing in the center of a spot only big enough for my feet. Two laundry baskets overflowing and shelves covered in socks unmatched, towels, things waiting to be hung or thrown back in to fluff, I ran my hands though the clothing and searched for a wallet I had no idea how would haved ended up here.

Stopped then, giving up the search and said a silent prayer, really just a thought, “Lord, please help Heather find her wallet.” and then decided to just go on with my morning.

Texted her to say, “Sorry, no wallet here anywhere”. I expected to hear later she’d found it.

She replied, “I just found it.”

I told her I had prayed. “Power of prayer” she replied.

I’m praying for bigger things than misplaced wallets lately.

I’m praying with big lumps in my throat and with an honest pleading of surrender.

Praying so much it feels like angst, like work, like frustration.

Prayers that I know God is hearing; but, maybe wondering why I’m hesitant to believe.

Why I’m ranting so, when help is on the way…in time.

Maybe not as immediate a response as a laundry room prayer.

I’ll believe and I will see, soon.

As soon as I continue on my way, resolute in His glory.

As soon as I decide to stop my diligent search for the answer, like a wallet left at work that was never in any of the places I looked, after all.

If I’ll let go, sit quietly and wait to welcome the arrival of the one who heals.

If I will believe.

Have faith in God. Mark 11:24

I’m linking up with others who tell stories of believing.

Thin Layer Chocolate Sundays

courage, Faith, grace, praise, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

a satisfied heart

If you went to my mama’s on Sunday, there was always cake.

There might be roast beef, butterbeans, corn and biscuits.

There would be mashed potatoes, thick and creamy, with a little place where the butter sat in a little hollowed out center.

Some gravy on top and sweet, glazy carrots, onions.

We’d eat together and we’d talk. Maybe walk to the pond or nap.

Waiting for time for a piece of cake.

Maybe caramel, coconut, pound or “thin layer” chocolate.

The one with the yellow softness of 16 or so tiny layers, thin and spongy.

Striated like zebra, chocolate, layer, chocolate, layer, chocolate….

The dark, dark sweet chocolate cooked stovetop and then poured on top of layer, one by one, smoothed with big, flat knife…slowly, gingerly.

Layers baked on the old black griddle and then eased onto a towel spread on kitchen counter.

Easy talk about life as I watched my mama bake, so lovingly and at peace.

She’d gently take the layers, one by one, placing carefully on a pretty cake plate as she added the rich, chocolate, shiny icing, still warm from the pot.

Chocolate icing so thick with sugar, melting like warm grains of sand on the tongue.

This past Sunday, we talked about the bread of life.

How we all try to fill ourselves up, seeking to be content.

Jobs, cars, clothes, burgers, fries, recognition, acclaim and appearance.

I thought this morning of the insatiable seeking for more, for better, for as good as him, as attractive as her. Wondered if joy were measurable, if contentment could be calculated, would it even be a ripple in the sea of our heart’s deepest desires.

To never have cake again on Sunday at mama’s is just a tiny little longing.

My heart knows the scene, holds the image, keeps safe the memory. It’s just as sweet, sweeter maybe.

To never be famous, have my art only on the walls of friends and family is unimportant, really.

As long as my heart knows the abandonment of paint covered hands and the chance to step back to gaze for a long time at an image known by my soul alone.

To write on this little blog, almost 300 times now… yet, never place a book of my words in the hands of my children.

Is not so tragic as long as my words get to come together occasionally in a way that reflects my soul.

My heart…that’s contentment.

Satisfaction, fully.

Because your love is better than life,
    my lips will glorify you.
I will praise you as long as I live,
    and in your name I will lift up my hands.
I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;
    with singing lips my mouth will praise you. Psalm 63:5

Linking up to Tell His Story with Jennifer Dukes Lee

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Be still, the Lord is Working

Children, Faith, family, grace, Motherhood, Trust, Uncategorized

The sky this morning was dark.

Dull and heavy gray, the color of dirty mop water left in kitchen sink.

Unpleasant dark gray, dirt, dust and murk.

Grandma mopped her floor at night.

She dusted little mahogany shelves lined with tiny puppies, angels, bells, and kittens.

Pretty pink ceramic roses, so many little “nic-nacs”.

Forgot to drain the sink after hanging the mop from a nail on the back screen door.

She’d say, “Look at that, you better not be trackin’ dirt in my kitchen again.”

Early this morning, the trees were bent to their sides by the wind.

The kind of morning, at my grandma’s we’d have been real quiet.

All of us, cousins at grandma’s, the little white house on the hill filled with love, pancakes and butter cookies.

We’d have moved to the settee and sat straight up, feet dangling over edge, stiff and still.

Knees touching, a straight line of cousins, staring out the picture window, through the corn field towards Aunt Gloria’s.

We’d have sat there until the rumbling sky was a whisper not a jolt.

Until the wind no longer wrapped around us, sang its whistling song of swirl.

Because, my grandma would say, “This is the Lord’s work, be still.”

So, I wanted to cancel my trip today; wanted to be still.

Worried over my daughter driving before dawn.

Uneasy about the wind, the rain, the roads.

Prayed for her, journaling “Keep us safe, Lord…help us not be anxious.”

The little girl in me, round freckled face, crooked pixie cut bangs shielding shy blue eyes

Remembered her grandma’s instructions,

Remembered her grandma.

Be quiet.

The Lord is working.

The storm will pass, she said.

And it did.

Messy, Pretty, Good

courage, Faith, grace, rest, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

There’s paint spattered on the wall, a greenish blue ocean color.

A canvas a while ago, I was intent on the texture of sky and sea, large brush strokes, attacking white canvas…until I got it right. Kept at it until satisfied.

Until I could step back, look towards color and be content with what I’d made.

If it’s good, there’s peace and rest. Not good, its surface gets painted over, propped up to dry and I’m torn between trying again or letting it be.

I’m always certain of plans for a painting, intent and abandoned in the process.

I’m hard on myself, denying I’m meant to create. What is talent, who decides?

Just like that, I leave it for a time…let it go.

Then, an afternoon frees itself and I’m covering the table in sheets, laying out paint, filling mason jars with water and bringing out the piece I gave up on, maybe a blank canvas too.

And I paint. I change black to blue, textured with thick layers like silk, reds, bright and full.

Poppy-like blooms, strong and long green stems barely able to support the fullness of blooms.

Later, it’s dry and I can hardly stop myself from staring. I turn it to its back and sign, “LT…Quiet Confidence…Isaiah 30:15”.

Called it “Joy”.

Joy

Yesterday. I woke with recall of the sweetest and smallest of unexpected good. Today, as well.

I looked over towards pine tree tops and saw sunlight peeking through.

I sat there, with that sweetness…yesterday and today.

Remembering how I’d pushed for perfect.

How I’d given up, defeated and despondent until like a child pitchin’ a fit, I’ve done all I can do and I traipse away to my corner to accept life as it has been given, my perceived pitifully unfair lot in life.

Until, like a sullen and sulking child, I begin to let go and let it be.

And God, like a parent who saw that special thing hoped for; but, held back knowingly, softly walks back in and says. “Here, child. This is what I had for you. It’s better than what you wanted.”

It’s the unexpected and gloriously beautiful, like rich red and peaceful blue paint on a discarded old piece of wood.

Merciful grace to those tripped up by hastened and erratic desire.

Messy made pretty, made good.

Return to rest, my soul. The Lord has been good to you.

Psalm 116:7

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee, Tell His Story

To Be with Jesus

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

I wouldn’t say it was the very first thought today.

But, once I had sweet creamy coffee in hand, I sat and then thought.

Morning

Lord, what is it you will teach me today?

I’d read from the Book of Mark yesterday and would be picking back up there. Jesus with people, seeking, following or doubting…all hearers of His stories, parables and encounters. I’d have been captivated

I would hope so.

I wonder, if I’d been one of the chosen 12 or at least had time in His midst

Would I have been an attentive and engrossed student

Listening closely, comforted and content?

Or might I have been one to question, to be agitated by notions of what should have been a more prolific and royal presence?

Mark 6:6

Would I have been disappointed?

Wondering, who is this friend of sinners, teacher and one who beckoned everyone…come closer, listen?

Would I have hunkered down, found a quiet place in the boat, raging storm all around; nevertheless, secure because of His nearness?

Or would my fears have gotten the best of me, untrusting

And He marveled because of their unbelief. And He went about among the villages teaching. Mark 6:6

Unwilling to believe?

Would my terror have led to anger, so much that I questioned this man sleeping in stormy waters…this healer, this soon to be Savior?

I wonder if I would have known His peace or panicked.

I wonder if I’d been one following close behind Him on narrow paths of dirt

If I’d have been a happy disciple or a fatigued and weary traveler.

Would I have been bitter over Jesus stopping to notice a greedy little man in a tree, a filthy, lonely soul covered in sores, or a brazen woman aware of her sin, yet still hoping for redemption?

Or would I have known the purpose of the stories?

Would I have been impatient, expecting an elaborate and rehearsed lecture to prepare for the kingdom, culture, or citizenship to come.

Scholarly and pompous, would I have shown up only to be given wise instructions?

Or would I have listened like a child at His feet, hanging on words that told of a wayward son’s choosing wealth over work, pig troughs, the worth of sparrows, not hiding lights under bushels, and seeds sown the right way so as to grow big, big faith?

I hope I’d have been the one who rose early to be with Jesus

To ask