Like yesterday, I open my pretty journal. It’s the exact color of soft tangerine, like the chair from my husband’s mama’s home.
A list, oh, how I love and live by lists.
A new one every morning, today with new names and needs, two of them unexpectedly hard and two more most especially and welcomingly hopeful.
I thought the other day, is prayer the most simple of things, another of many we make laboriously complicated?
Even if I hadn’t carefully jotted down using my rose colored mechanical tool and strategically added a dot beside each need and name…
Wouldn’t God know, isn’t it true it’s not at all necessary that He see, read?
Practice, though, it’s a practice for me.
Today, my list includes
Opportunities and assignments await, one a farewell piece to a monthly column, two others submissions for possibility, actually three and one, an in the works more probable than possible featured artist in a publication.
This one, a wow, the kind comments from an editor. I shared it with my son, surprised by the reply, as if to convey,
You must do the thing you think you cannot do.
I sit with my today list for a moment then suddenly, opening paragraphs are completed with pencil notations of subject and submission.
I have begun.
“My heart is not proud, Lord, my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me.”
Psalm 131:1 NIV
I turn the page for empty spaces and discover a funny face of a child I began. I must’ve then handed the pencil over hoping to entertain her while her troubled mama and I met.
Lines all over my page, I’ll not tear it out or trash it, simply fill in the blank space and remember for a moment.
A little baby named Shyla, came home from hospital to our shelter, now a vivacious toddler with a smile that cannot be ignored.
A toddler with a passion and her mama with a purpose and me, us, our work a chance to be a part.
She called me last night, the mama. Things are going well, so very well. She’s a believer and she’s a bulldog to not give up or give in. She’s passionate about her progress, gives all the glory to God!
She’ll stop by, she said, with her daughters, one we got to help her bring into the world and the one we helped only a little with her reunification.
Then before goodbye she said “I love you.” first and it followed my reply, “I love you.”
Amazes me every time, drives me, compels my compassion.
So, I’ll not tear the scribbled all over page from my journal. I’ll remember on those days when I resent my work, when I’m grandiose in my ideas of being a painter and a writer only.
Lord, help me remember your equipping me for opportunities and your timing and your purpose. Help me remember I can do all of these things through you.
Forgive my resentment of what I see as obligation, work, and remind me again of my little spurts of writing that come all the more authentically when I sit and your spirit is evident becoming thoughts, words that flow.
Stop me when I justify my mood by reminding myself, my family, my friends, “I’ve been a helping professional almost 25 years!”
Remind me of days that flow like grace and days that are hard and filled with opposition and strife that all of a sudden settle and I’m met by the face of one whose countenance is now content.
Remind me again to wait, to wait for it to come. Make me passionate yet again about my work.
Flow so much all the more genuine, authentic and true.
Art and word, painting and writing, passions that feed and fuel me.
Thank you, Lord.
For a child’s scribbles in my journal, for opportunities and for potential in places that remind me to endure.
To be confident.
“So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.”
Hebrews 10:35-36 NIV
Thank you for passion, enthusiasm that compels me to continue.
- PAINTING and
Linking up with TellHisStory writers.