#wordsthatmove

Persisting

courage, Faith, praise, Prayer, rest, Teaching, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

There are a few, maybe more than a few things I am persistent in.

I always make my bed, taut linens, perfectly smoothed quilt.

I pray every morning in the shower, like singing it’s a place to be secret, a sanctuary.

I journal, sometimes half-heartedly,  gratitude and anxiety.

I walk in the evenings, if daylight allows.  My walking, sometimes good and refreshing, sometimes nothing more than prescribed discipline.

Yet, I persist.

photo

I walked yesterday evening.  The sky was clear, the roads quiet and empty. I looked for pink skies and found only icy blue.

Earlier than usual, a warm afternoon and the sparrows were gathered,  moving tree to tree in rapid little sweeping flight.

Landing for just a second or two before gathering again to rest in brief refrain.  I caught sight of one resting up high on skinny branch.

Reminding me of rest, of waiting, of listening and trusting.photo 1-6_kindlephoto-41021794

Persisting.

Scribbling, quickly this morning

Again my thoughts on persistence.

It may take years and years and many types of trouble, calamity, crisis and question to truly understand the value of prayer. 

Because the answer holds little value, is really no more than change in circumstances. God loves us so, so much that He will bless us with reprieve, with clarity, with relief.  

Still, this is not the significance of God’s longing for us to discover through prayer.  God’s desire and constant beckoning of our hearts is for us to lay our hearts bare and broken before him…to persist there in that place…aligned with Him. To be fully content in simply abiding.

To return to rest in the safe place of God.

To persist in pursuit of the peace of God.

To be hid in the shadow of His wings and that be all we need to keep us confident and courageous as He bends to listen, protect and strengthen.  This is design and desire of God.

photo 3_kindlephoto-41085388

I am praying to You, because I know You will answer O God.  Bend down, listen as I pray.  Your unfailing  love is wonderful and You save with Your strength those who seek you as a refuge.  Guard me as the apple of Your  eye.  Hide me in the shadow of your wings.  

Psalm 17: 6-8

tellhisstory-badge-1

Linking up to Tell His Story with other writers, persistently praying.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/for-those-times-when-you-dont-see-a-happy-ending-to-your-story-tellhisstory/

content in my distraction

Uncategorized

feather

There was a red bird outside my window this morning. I heard its chirping and stopped to listen. I pushed back from my desk, opened the shutters and stopped, captivated by its visit.  Bright, confident, vibrantly bouncing around in the straw.

My mind moves lately from one to another thing, the bane of the multitasking and distracted life.  It’s my current place in life, engaged daughter and youngest entering college.

Last night, planted next to the checkout at Target,  a friend and I shared wisdom over the need to rest, to look away from the current inundation of horrific.  We agreed that we’d be quite content to withdraw to our homes, to draw into and near to God.  We wondered if this might be the only sound place of solace. We agreed we should and we could do this.

Let’s just stay in our quiet place;  stay home, curl up on the couch, kneel down bedside.  Avoid the news, the media, the social sucking in of our minds via handheld places of informative anguish. We might withdraw, we decided.

But wait, there’s a birthday coming up tomorrow, her daughter and  “Lisa, you have your daughter’s wedding to plan, What fun!” she said.  Our conversation and our faces changed as we shifted to the good, to the peace bringing, soul touching, warm smile bringing happy things.

Glancing towards my desk this morning, ready to begin my list of to do’s.  I had committed in prayer to remain focused, to avoid distractions and to honor God in my work. I placed my yellow mug down next to my collection of peaceful things.  The things that make me smile, a reminder note to “be still” and a mug, both gifts from my daughter. A perfectly hollowed out bird nest cushioning baby bluebird feathers and I thought “this little vignette is my happy way of life”.   This is rest for my soul,  pretty and peaceful in the impending and overwhelming now. I’m hoping God has planted  a collection of joy on my friend’s path today and that she’s stopped to notice already.

My friend has had a hard year.  She is thin. She is tired.  Her eyes have an appearance of long, heavy nights. “It all caught up with me this year, Lisa.”  she said.  I asked, wondering  “Like the empty nest is so much more empty than you thought it would be?”

She agreed, nodding without words, her eyes becoming watery and I wondered if these words were hard or just hard truth.

Her son, same age as mine, should be headed to college.  He ended his life three years ago. I cherish the story of her son. I’ve heard it many times, no less difficult in the repetition. I am honored to be a listener of her cherished story.

I was there to shop for my son, entering college in three weeks. My dread of the coming Matriculation Day changed to an embracing of the gift now, of accomplishment and challenge.

I asked about her kind and quiet husband then,   “I saw the mission trip pictures.” I said, adding “the one with the child looking up at him, he seemed so serene”.  She smiled then and said her husband may have found peace in Africa.  His journey has made a turn. His path seems more peaceful, she said.   She turned a corner too, a hard road she saw him travel she’ll travel now, she hopes for not so long.

My sweet and wise cousin sent a photo the other day. She’d spent the day in Charleston and thought of sending a picture of the college campus soon to be my son’s home.  She thought of me, she said as she drove past the gated entrance.  She rethought the idea, suddenly though.  Later,  she says knew why. Her daily routine, out walking her dogs, a hot and dry day, eyes cast downward, she thought of me again and smiled.

Nestled in the brown, dry pine needles, crisp and crunchy leaves, she found a brilliant feather. She texted me: ” I saw this and thought of you. I love you.” I imagined her stopping to look, deciding which path to take and then pausing there, thinking this is for Lisa.

She texted: “Walking dogs , saw this pretty feather , thinking of you.”

Stand at the crossroads and look, ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, walk there, you’ll find rest for your soul. Jeremiah 6:16

I’m sharing my story in a link-up with other wise women who are most likely distracted, yet content.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/tellhisstory-does-god-care-about-your-happiness/

Thank you Jennifer!

Thank you Jennifer!

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!