Weep No More

I tweeted “me too”, not even close to the allowable character limit, my sentence vague and just a hint of reference to my past.

Others have declared loudly and clearly their memories of being ravaged, manipulated, tried and terrorized.

I tweeted how it’s with me still, how I’ll never not be bothered by the battering.

It’s the fabric of me, woven and sewn into my story, I use it to try and strengthen others on days I’m strong.#MeToo

I saw her yesterday, her jeans too big, I wanted to ask why. Her walk the same, determined and continuing forward, still just her. It has been lately.

She walks alone now.

I saw her the first time this year in early Spring. She walked looking down mostly, her face towards the sidewalk. There was the empty space of two or three people blank between her and a man.

The air was cool still, requiring a jacket or sweater and hers hung over her shoulders. Her body reminding me of a wire hanger and she’d not lined up the garment’s seams.

Her jeans were off kilter, they hung askew and I thought she must be bothered by being unable to keep them up; but, decided she’d learned to make the best of hard things, pants not fitting, the least of concerns. Her shoes barely showing from the drag of hem, their flat soles like a piece of old cardboard. I imagined the sound of denim touching concrete, seemed similar too a lull.

Yet, she walked on. I wondered where she goes. I saw her face only slightly in my mirror glance as I passed by on my way towards my day.

Her long hair, unattempted uncontrolled, I longed to approach her, to know her well enough to gently tuck the long strands of dark hair behind her ears. I longed to know her in a way that she’d welcome my gesture. I created a story in which I could tell her my story, one that would include “me too” as I’ve seen her now unaccompanied by the man.

But, I’d be wrong to assume, wrong to demand conversation, wrong to open a wound she may have begun to heal.

Because, I’ve been drawn in to the stories of others who said “Me too”. I was pulled in, applauded braveries and became both captivated and courageously angry over others like me.

I thought of Hagar, the maid forced to give a barren woman a child. Hagar, manipulated and groomed for something someone else felt was their right. She was used for sex then shamed for giving in, for complying with the demands of those who hoarded over.

She did what they wanted and was quickly discarded.

But, God saw her. He met her and told her good will come from this, good towards you and from these abusive and harmful actions by one who used their control.

Good will come. Hagar believed God and it changed her course. Changed the course of mankind.

“So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”

‭‭Genesis‬ ‭16:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I hope to see her again, the woman who walks every morning. But, I’ll not invite conversation or long to know I’m wrong or right about my assumptions.

I’d welcome the chance to know; but, I’d no longer force my way in, beg her to tell.

Last night, I woke my husband. I screamed out “No…..!” in my sleep. I was dreaming. I was in a room. I saw the shadow of ominous shoulders, so large and overpowering outside my window. I waited. I knew he’d be coming inside. I cowered into the corner. He raised both arms and pushed me hard into a corner.

I moaned, “No…..”

It scared him, my husband said, has said before.

He woke me, gently pulling me free,

Lisa, Lisa, Lisa.

I shifted under the covers.

Placed my hand on my chest and said no more me too, no more, and slept soundly and languished long, woke deciding I’ll not go back there, to the place of being damaged by men who made me a “Me Too”.

I’ll trust the God who has brought me through and my story will be as strong as God has promised, has made good on His promise.

But, it won’t be sorrowful and it will scare me no more.

I pray if my story is to be told it won’t cause remembrances that bring forth fear, fear from those places healed; that I’ll not cause the opening of old wounds.

I’ll keep walking forward in the way that brought healing.

I’ll walk like the woman I long to know, determined in her way, her shoulders more level, her face steadily more uplifted each morning I pass.

I’ll keep looking ahead and remember the wisdom of someone more than half my age, it doesn’t help to hold onto the bad things that happened before. They happened, move on.

Walking forward, never backward, lest I allow myself to be tripped again by fear.

“…you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:19-21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m linking up with other writers to Tell His Story here:

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/control-think-free-printables/

Writing Side

I’ve not written in days.

I will soon.

I’ll not dishonor my thoughts, my observations

my stories I’ve been observant of

by writing here for the sake of writing

because I’m naive to believe my followers

might wonder where I’ve been.

Still here. Still believing.

Still noticing.

Still true to my thoughts becoming words.

And less worried they might fade away forgotten.

Painted again, finally ‘tho.

A piece I decided to call, “Restful One”.

Time, time is mine and on

my side.

“…and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭7:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Rest and Dusty Places

Connie texted me “your duck painting sold! You need to paint some roosters!

“Gotcha! See you next week.” I replied.

Went to the little room to finish some “girls” before moving to roosters and decided, not today, I’ll wait. I’ll let these rest for now. I have time next week.

Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while. Jesus

Mark 6:31

The verse before this one tells of how the disciples told Jesus we’ve been working so hard that we haven’t even taken the time eat.

They’d just seen Jesus rejected in the town of his birth, Nazareth.

They were discouraged. Jesus told them let’s move on.

Reminded me of me, my little affirmations to self: “Learn from it and carry on. Turn the page, begin again, you’ve done what you could, do the next thing, take a new road…”

“And he marveled because of their unbelief. And he went about among the villages teaching.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He told them, you go now, paired them up. You can do this on your own. They had little other than his brief but firm instruction.

“And if any place will not receive you and they will not listen to you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent.

And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:11-13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yesterday, I walked towards my car, exhorting myself over a presentation. The words came to mind easy…”I can do all things through Christ…”

I got in the car, got the navigation set and thought about the “all”.

I knew so clearly then, the meeting might not go well. An easy drive despite construction and fog until I took my exit and I was blind to the spot where the black car’s door was inches from mine.

A split second. I glanced over and the black car kept moving, I barely slowed; yet, we were spared, the stranger I didn’t see and me, we both continued on.

God gave me warning, be careful, be alert, be prepared.

The presentation did not go well. I was not prepared in the way the one questioning demanded and their expectations were quite clearly stated with my deficiencies made known. But, the morning taught me some things. “I understand” I told the questioner.

I understand.

No, you cannot do all things, Lisa.

You can do all of the things that come to you through me.

Some places you go will not receive you well. Some people you meet will not be interested in your testimonies, your stories.

Dust yourself off and decide to try again or not, don’t discount the things you know are not your “all” through me that my Spirit has made clear.

When the disciples reunited with Jesus, they’d accomplished much for Him, but they’d also suffered grief and hardship.

They had to bury John, who’d been beheaded. They were hungry and tired and if the word was in their vocabulary back then, I believe they knew burnout.

Jesus calmly invites them to rest. He sends them out, encourages they go away and recover.

And I believe this was a welcome command. I see them heaving a sigh of gratitude and turning to go and find that quiet place.

But, others followed. Many were coming and going and they all were in great need.

Jesus had compassion on them, called them sheep without a shepherd to guide their way.

The disciples must have wondered, I thought you told us to rest. We found the place to rest, can we rest now?

“And when it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a desolate place, and the hour is now late. Send them away to go into the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”

‭‭Mark‬ ‭6:35-36‬ ‭

Jesus answered, “No, we need to feed them.”

And they were fed, all five thousand of them from a couple of fish and five loaves.

I told my friend about the horrible presentation, about how defeated and tired I felt.

She asked me why I continue. A woman walked from the hallway and around the corner to cook her supper in the kitchen of a home that’s not hers, a shelter.

Yesterday, she’d raked the backyard of our home we call, “Nurture”. She called me over and I thanked her.

I asked how she’s doing. She said “I’m keeping on!” and turned to finish her work.

I know why you continue she said after I’d pointed to the woman walking by the door.

“The greater good, for the greater good.”

she said.

I nodded.

No more need for complaint or question.

Dusted myself off to try again.

I’m writing, prompted by the “invite”, shared in the Five Minute Friday. More than five minutes, clearly. Still, I’m linking up because I consider the invitation open despite my way over the time rule.

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2017/10/12/writing-life-invite/

I’ve discovered Kelly Balarie this morning and some good words on self condemnation and fear. Linking up with others at http://purposefulfaith.com/

What I Said

I’d be more than enough if I quietly painted and gave myself over to small and large pieces or thick papers that I stacked high or hung in the corner of one wall.

And I left them there, to be seen

or not.

I’d be more than enough in the eyes of God and I believe, the eyes of others, too.

I’d be more than enough if not a single soul read the words I pencil or peck out.

More than enough if later, a long time away maybe, my children and grandchildren got a glimpse of my faith and my falters and remembered me well.

I’d be more than enough, more than I can know, if they found their names written next to a little dot and they knew that God knew and that I knew too.

Because I’ve found my name in my grandmother’s Bible, faded black underlines and a delicate cursive “Lisa” in the margin.

It was something to see, significant.

I’m all out of sorts with the attention that comes with the calling, the calling to write, the calling to create.

What a fine line it is, thin and fine, between expression and validation.

Too much, Lisa.

Too much Lisa.

This morning, I’ve read a blog post from a writer who wrote about grace, her focus for “31 Days”.

Her disappointment over not being chosen yet again, her submission denied.

I commented “same here, I understand, show yourself some grace, I’ll take a little too”.

Then, remembered what I’d said when I’d been informed of my own no.

It was a clear declaration, a mindset proclaiming acceptance, it was all the right words.

“Yes, Lord. I see this no is your no and I see that you see me not writing devotions; but, the book.”

I was confident in my making the no a yes. Everyone agreed, oh my, what a way to make a no a yes!

Oh, yes.

No.

Then that sneaky feeling came back… the fat girl in the weird clothes whose name was last to be called in the “Red Rover, red rover, send…right over” or the one sitting up proper amongst the pretty and proper dying inside over “How soon can I leave this room, how much longer must I be on display?”

I went back to my default of quiet girl unnoticed, safe, no fear of not being chosen.

It was familiar.

But, somehow foreign.

So, I asked God the other morning in the shower,

I prayed. It was different, not different because of where I was, shower prayers are my daily, maybe odd to some thing.

Different, because it was certain and for sure feeling.

“Lord, what will you think if I just don’t write anymore, if I don’t finish what you told me start?”

I waited, the question was free flowing, like asking a friend “What do ya’ think? ” easy to ask and open for their reply.

I waited, knees resting.

Then this thought, an answer to my prayer question.

“Wouldn’t it be okay if I just keep it to myself, and you, God…pages and pages of the heart you know?”

I waited, relieved to no longer be toting ’round the worry over my worth based on my words.

But, He answered.

I saw myself there at the end of my days resting close by the one who knew me best.

He answered, it was a gentle and kind reply.

Lisa, I know you wanted to

and I

wish you

had.

I wish you had

trusted me more.

This morning, I’m reading about grace towards ourselves and I’ve pencilled in my daily prayer of Jabez in a new way, like a conversation, God’s replies added.

Oh that you would bless me indeed. (I have.)

Enlarge my territory (I have; but, you still long to hide away.)

That your hand would be with me.(Always, it is.)

So that I would not be in pain.

(It is not of my making, any pain that you are feeling. I have and will grant your request.) I Chronicles 4:10

I walk out into the damp grass before work, a mindless morning thing, remembering the Winter day we brought the Labrador home.

It was work. I kept at it. More effort and angst than I could have imagined. The morning thing, routine, schedule, energy let loose…toss a ball, say “good boy” , again again.

Some mornings I rushed. In a hurry, but determined, days that were hard, cold, icy, some humid and mosquitoes unrelenting. Others, I cherish, the geese flew over, a cardinal flitted by, the sky was wide and blue and the rhythm of our play, it was enough.

His retrieval, his reply.

He lumbered up next to my side this morning, now two years with us. My mind miles away and he’d finished his rounds along the fence line.

I looked down and met his eyes.

“Where’s your tennis ball?” I asked, just like the way I used to say “Where’s your paci or your blanket, your glove?”.

“Go find your tennis ball.” I told him.

Then, I waited.

He came back, the dirty and matted old ball sideways, hanging tight in his mouth.

“Good boy!” I said, threw the ball a long ways and he ran towards it again.

Again.

I’m thinking about trust, how it is not struggle, about how I make it hard work, make it hard, make it too much me, make it vain. Decide it’s never enough, my trust.

I toss again. Again.

Still thinking of settling here, this morning thing, this scribbling down of prayers, rambling and random thoughts expression of art, or word.

Enough.

And yet, fascinated by what might come with trust.

I’ve opened my Bible now and it falls open to the pages marked with crimson petals,

Find wisdom. Find reply.

“Then I observed that most people are motivated to success because they envy their neighbors. But this, too, is meaningless—like chasing the wind. “Fools fold their idle hands, leading them to ruin.” And yet, “Better to have one handful with quietness than two handfuls with hard work and chasing the wind.””

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭4:4-6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

So I’ll not sit idle, hands folded in my lap. I’ll be content with the one handful, not chasing after what might be in the hands of another.

I’ve gotten quiet today thinking about the contrast between strife and restful trust, motivation and following God’s lead to

go and find what is mine to catch and bring back.

Out of the blue, I hear from one of my “colors”.

Instead of saying, love you, how are you?, yes I’m still writing or hope to see you soon…

I say, “I’m ready to finish your chapter, up for a visit?”

“Yes”, she said.

And I have lyrics again, lyrics that come to mind.

“Only trust Him…

Only trust Him more.”

Linking up with others at Jennifer Dukes Lee. Click here to read and then share your love, your thoughts, your wisdom and words today with everyone around you!

Jennifer’s story of a man named Charlie, I’ve read again this morning as it’s the 19th year since my daddy died. His name was Charlie Ruel. He fought in the Korean War. He was a good looking man, sharp dressed, lover of the sound of a steel guitar and of my mama. He was a quiet man, not at jovial. When he spoke, he made sure his words were necessary, were beneficial. Tonight, I’ll go to Bible study. We’ve been discussing heaven and I pray I somehow hear from him, my daddy, Mr. Charlie Ruel Hendrix, the baby of his family.

Read here about Jennifer’s Charlie.

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/dont-wait-tomorrow-say-needs-said-today/

My Soul, the Same

Groggy because of the rain barely falling and the ceiling fan’s dull wobbly sound. It is rhythmic, the way I’m drawn to notice.

I’d nap if there were time or if my mind could remember the way back to settled. I’ve lost the gift of napping and I’ve no idea why except there always seems to be something else I need to know, new words, the expressions of them. I’m introspective unable to stop soaking in, seeking the more to know.

My loyalty is to the inner vision, whenever and howsoever it may arrive.

Mary Oliver

A poet’s book of essays on my lap and

the kind words of the morning still close.

Someone said they’d heard a soul described as clear as glass.

My day started this way, a message, a kind word.

I heard a reference in the story that instantly reminded me of the path you are on. It is when Joshua referred to a woman having a “soul that is clear as glass”. I can’t think of another person who fits that bill. Keep writing.

Ray

This evening, hoping to summon autumn, I decide on a cup of tea.

The tiniest bit of sugar crystallized clumped now on the bottom, I notice the word “soul”.

I smile because I’m reminded my heart is known, the desires of them, by God.

Clearly, my soul the same.

All of it Grace

Unraveling slowly, so slowly, I gather my things needed for tasks and consider making a list. The sky last night, we knew we’d not be able to find the moon. Still, we emptied our thoughts underneath, together again.

I’m slow moving now and I suppose intentional in my avoiding the stuff to be done.

I might feel more on top of it all, if I made that list, might be anxious to get to that feeling of “see you got it all done, you did!”

Instead, I walk out back, the dogs impatient, and I hear the slow, soft rain.

I’m enveloped. I’m slow to go back in; I must greet the moist day with a grateful welcome, I decided, it’s been a while since it’s rained.

Then, I wonder again how to find the rest of the story, I’d only heard the beginning, the words somewhere recorded, of Tom Petty’s thoughts on Jesus.

I stay a little longer, barefooted in my nightgown and the beagle’s taking tip toe steps in the rain soaked grass.

The Lab has done his business and stands close by looking out, I wonder if he wonders why we are here still and in no hurry.

The crazy wild roses are soaking it all in and I go from thinking of grace to remembering the thunder in an instant.

When you look over your shoulder

And you see the life that you’ve left behind

When you think it over do you ever wonder?

What it is that holds your life so close to mine.

You love the thunder and you love the rain.

Jackson Brown, You Love the Thunder

And I’ve yet to make that list or journal my prayer and it’s three hours into my being awake and two from the time I have to do my first thing on my weekend schedule today.

Slow Saturday, I decided, its all grace, grace, grace.

Give a little bit, to you.

It’s all grace.

Every bit of it.

Someone asked what I think of when I think of grace, or how I might define it, an invitation to write about it.

I decided against responding, knowing the only thing I know is that I think of it every day and all day, I give it it’s due.

I know it’s all grace, only grace. Got me this far, leading me on.

She’s a good girl,

loves Jesus

and America too.

Tom Petty, Free Fallin ‘

Rain and dirt roads, good places, pretty good girls and grace, grace, grace.

Every bit of it, grace for us all, all of us.

“Grace be with all of you.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13:25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Bending Down

I love it when I see into your heart for your kids. It makes me see a piece of my Mum, who left for heaven early. I can imagine her praying for us like you do for yours. And I still see prayers she prayed over us reaping fruit: the deeds of the righteous shall follow them. I hope God gives you glimpses into the fruit even now. Those prayers carry the weight of eternal blessings no one can take away from your kids.

You won’t find me joining in on “sending

positive thoughts” or “good energy” or even “hopeful thoughts”.

I’ve seen the pleas of such and I pause, I wonder over the vague imploring for good from those who hope for good.

I designed a book cover…used a picture I loved and a title I believed,

What God Can Do…

my name, my first and middle with last, in a pretty font underneath.

I’d planned to set it aside til pages were filled on the one before.

But, decided to be intentional, after all I’d proclaimed it already…What God can do.

Intentional in my recording, light impressions from lead in light touch of pencil.

Little dot I call “bullet”, I wrote

I will know whether I should write or not.

Thus, the quote above from someone in some place I’ve no idea and who longs for her mama, her “mum” and was kind enough to be the person who, prompted by God who heard my prayer to tell me I should continue writing.

And I was not always an understander of God or a pray-er of prayers; but, I’d love to know that someone may read this and decide to pray, nothing against good thoughts or positive vibes.

But, I pray someone will pray.

Maybe make a bullet list in the morning or night.

One was this (the others I’ll keep secret, sacred):

I will know (because of what God can do)

that I should write, I should write for one person, just one and that one will be quite well enough.

“Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭116:2

She read Bending with the Road

About my Children

and her comment, no less than a confirmation and an answer…What God Can Do.

Book of Redemption

Redeemed, I woke up wondering and started my morning thing by writing it down…

redeemed

Underneath the date of today.

I’d picked the teal cup for my coffee, the one gifted me, unexpectedly.

I thought of the word, “redeem” and I went back to Bama’s, my grandma.

I saw her licking the stamps, sitting at the table rimmed in silver with yellow linoleum smooth surface, the place for our plates. I saw her filling up the books, the edges lined just right.

I thought I might ask to help, but always reconsidered, I watched her fill up her books.

Little paper books filled with them, S & H Green Stamps marked on the top with the word,

“Redeem”.

She shopped at the Piggly Wiggly and she redeemed the stamps she pasted into the books.

I never heard her say the word. She wouldn’t have, I don’t believe. She may have said “turn in my stamps” or “take my books to the S & H Green Stamp store”; but, I’m certain I never heard her say “redeemed”.

Yet, I woke up longing to grasp its meaning, “redemption”, in the way lately I’ve been focused on comprehending grace. I’ve felt it, celebrated it, been talking to myself about it…knowing truths like “were it not for grace and

grace, grace, grace”.

Unmerited favor. Yes, I know grace.

I almost give up on me at least three times a day. I get a little helpless and hopeless some days when I wonder why I’m still waiting for what I might not be quite sure I’m able to see come true. I get a little despondent over what not might come to be because of me not being me, bravely me.

So, I prayed this morning with last night’s truth on my mind, the stern hold on…don’t go there…I’d said to myself firm and redirecting…look how far you’ve made it, it would be so wrong to waste it, to not believe the uphill path is possibly not so scary high.

Oh, the books I could fill by now had I collected everything stamped “Redeemed”. You’d not believe the book filled with grace for falters and faults.

So, I’m rereading now, the pencilled in prayer wrote down quick and messy too early this morning:

I prayed.

Redeem my days, Lord Jesus, the ones inattentive or inconclusively sure of tomorrow, lost and aimlessly lulled into selfish and careless.

Those I squandered, let slip by, not including even the smallest consideration of your knowing me fully and lovingly waiting, loving.

And your knowing the entirety of my frame from way, so way back when, so clearly that you lined up my clumsy self

and you kept me from the deep ditches. You helped me find my way out of the others.

You saved me.

You brought me out.

You were with me.

Yes, I’ve been redeemed.

Redeemed, not wasted; surely

Redeemed, I will go

now and from now on,

Redeemed.

“Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

‭‭John‬ ‭8:10-11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee and this truth: We are marked by God’s love not our mistakes.

Tell His Story

Bending With the Road

We took the old way today.

I decided, first thing in the morning, the open window air felt so very, very fresh.

Went to church, came back home and had decided…we’re gonna walk the hill.

We took the old way, the one before the subdivision came and brought with it, walking trail.

The way he’d never gotten to go, “Colton Dixon” the big brown Lab and I.

I held tight his leash, pulled him quick and sharp to the grassy edge when a car sped by.

It’s different now.

Before, I always knew, could anticipate what was coming. I considered it skill, my control and my anticipating good or bad.

The way I walked before, holding tight their sweet hands up the hill.

Sometimes my daughter, others my son

And sometimes both, we’ve gone on walks since way back when.

They thought it so high, the hill in the distance, the curvy approach, excited…I remember them being so excited for our nothingness type of adventure.

Our long walk, they always listened when I said we

gotta listen out, be careful.

One little stretch, a few feet you can’t see looking back towards home or up ahead towards hill, still there.

We were careful there. I held them close.

Then there were some days, just me, walking off the whatever on my mind.

Praying.

Not quite as careful by myself for the sound of car’s engine or the turn of rowdy boy truck from back road.

But, with them, well…

It was our adventure; but, I watched and I listened until.

We’d say, “We made it!”

Made it to the top of the hill, “Whew!”

The air today, it was heavenly.

The sky, blue and translucent.

No trail to follow, only edge of the road and a quite

vacant Sunday afternoon road.

We took the old way, new to him.

Our senses overloaded, his nose and my heart…all the little new things.

Reminded.

Reminded me, enough now, to be reminded and to pray.

The walks we walked back then.

The hill not nearly so steep, nor the road as much a challenge at all now.

The bend remains and the spot where you can’t see very far ahead, still there.

In between the sharp curve and high hill.

And it’s one way or the other now, I realized. A choice, an acceptance, sometimes reluctant surrender.

Bending away or towards what is not yet seen, a less tightly held hand on what doesn’t seem old at all…not old, just before now.

I turn with the change, turning, stepping, leaning into the curves. I’m not at all tired, stronger thoughts, stronger stride.

I lift my eyes toward heaven and the faith I walk with cares less about the hill and the sharp unknown of the bends and so much more about the adventures, their lives once and still mine.

Light Comes Through

I’m horrible at writing for only five minutes. (I believe she was right, out of the blue she told me to “focus on the bigger thing, Lisa…the story that is supposed to be written, yours!” ) I like the idea of responding to a suggested prompt, waiting to see what God might have me say. It’s an exercise, skills building, practice.

So, Five Minute Friday’s prompt today…here is where you led me:

This morning, I’m recording what I’m beginning to see come through. I’m not concerned over what I’m not sure of yet.

The light just enough for now, more breathtaking than all at once, for sure.

I should keep a record of how things come true, come through when I take my thoughts elsewhere.

Big, big revelations about my path and tiny little, sweet surprises that if I’d seen my face in a mirror, I’m quite sure it held a glow.

How a bold statement from an honest soul had been tucked away festering in my place of what if, maybe.

In the back of my mind.

The place where those thoughts I manipulate, the ones compromised by past and the ones trying to shine like a pretty twinkle of light longing for unveiling.

Yep, they are all there together.

This morning, I journaled two sentences from a lengthy devotional, pulling out the ones for me.

Not a single one of your thoughts escapes God’s notice.

The place I keep deeply covered, the longings for one thing or another.

They come to light when I let them, on their own.

There’s a lesson here. One I should know by now. We can’t hold faith, can’t see it or hear it.

Cannot manipulate or mold into what we want.

It resides in the recesses.

Then when it pleases, it shows itself in beautiful or bold surprises.

And though I’m giddy sometimes over the surprise of God’s notice and timing, I still go back to depending on me and my part in it all.

When did I forget that you’ve always been the King of the world? Natalie Grant

The hidden things are of God. The secrets revealed in time not mine.

Were it not so I’d do nothing but strive, search, yearn, push and pout.

Instead, maybe, no…Yes! I’ll hold on longer this time to the surprises that are never surprises at all. Yes, I will depend on your knowing.

A phone call you never expected, an answer to your fears on the other end or just a voice, saying everything is okay.

“Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.”

‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭11:1‬ ‭NLT‬‬