31 Days, Freely – Praise

I suppose I’m a quiet “praiser”. Not so much keep it to myself glory to God; but, not one to raise my hands during song or praise or prayer.

I tell you, it’s a beautiful thing to see, to be in the presence of.

Someone off in the distance or someone not distant at all whose eyes are closed in listening, worshipping, honoring mode and their hands won’t contain themselves…can’t hide their joy.

Oh, how I understand that joy.

I’m prone to soaking it all in, holding it close in my heart, my hands at my side, I may fold my hands like a little girl sayin’ the blessing and then I slowly open one hand and the other

And I might lift my palms toward heaven and give and receive.

Receive and then, give.


Or mostly, I sit in the quiet that I find or am allowed and I write little notes to my Father, long or scribbled revelations of my growing, His grace, His protection.

Oh, how my pencil praises!

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him, all creatures here below.

My story, my song, praising in our own little ways all the day long.

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

The one who’s kept me close, kept me grounded while growing, pulled me from the dangerous edges when I’ve gotten too scarily close and kept me, keeps me, loves me still, keeps me still.

31 Days, Freely – Hope

The air, obviously different this morning, I walked as quietly as possible thinking my aunt was still sleeping.

The back door was open wide and I saw her nowhere. The laundry room, slightly lit by the light marking the dryer’s cycle and a shifting noise was ever faint.

I decided it must be a load of towels. I turned to start the coffee, turned back and there she was. Smiling and nodding at me, her hair all messy and loose and her hands already working, determined and sure.

“Well, hey.” she said, “I’ve gotten behind on my laundry.”

She smiled and added “get you some coffee” and so, I did.

I didn’t tell her I’d been looking for her, that I’d gone out on the patio and thought I might find her watering or working already in her yard.

I didn’t tell her how the sweetest aroma I’ve ever known caused me to stand still, surveying the impatiens, the begonia, the ferns, turning and tilting and trying to find the mysterious source.

We sat with our coffee and fig newtons and we caught up quietly.

And then I asked her what the scent was that captured me, the one so enveloping.

She asked me if I’d noticed that all the blooms are reaching out wider, brighter, more fully. They know the season’s about to change, she informed.

Then she told me that it was the ginger lilies who sent the morning scent my way.

“Must’ve been the slight breeze this morning, it’ll bring ’em right up to the porch.”

I looked over the wide green carpet of her sloping yard, way past the little house my grandma lived before and thought I’d never have figured it out had she not told me, the massive lilies, so far in the swampy distance, bordering the woods.

“Oh, yeah.” she added as we walked down to see, “these lilies live long, they’re strong, they keep holding on.”

Then we plundered around and she showed us the elephant ears she’d discovered and she took us around back to the tiny purple blooms running wild and free.

I thought about her love, her faith, her quiet hope and I watched her as we shared a current stressful worry or two.

She nodded again, folded her hands to pray and with no words or a prayer at all, we heard.

“Prayer and patience…”

and hope now too, I know she always hopes.

I want a wide and full hope like hers in my changing seasons, all stored up for now, being so very confident there will always be more.

Hope endures.

31 Days, Freely -Belong

The Spring before my daddy died, he planted potatoes. The air was cool and my children watched, their bottoms plopped down on the dirt, my daughter with her arms wrapped around her baby brother.

If you asked my daddy if he was a farmer he’d have said no because he wasn’t a farmer and the potatoes weren’t a necessary crop.

If being a farmer depended upon breaking up the soil, walking out the spaces between the slices of potatoes planted, well, yes he was a farmer.

He belonged among the farmers.

I woke up this morning thinking about the harvest, about the keeping at it to reap what I sow.

My daddy was meticulous about how the potatoes were planted.

Just a small plot of land my cousin wasn’t planning to use, next to my house, so I got to watch him stand over it, waiting for what was happening underneath.

I read this morning about perseverance, about persistence.

Thinking about this season my friend is calling our harvest, I sensed a sure stirring, a need to grow.

I’d been distracted, disgruntled, pulled away and pitiful, decided I was never gonna reap from all that I had sown.

Jesus told a story about seeds and what we do with them and how we get disenchanted with the idea of us making something grow.

We don’t stay with it, we let our hopes go.

He told of people who only stick with it for awhile or people who’d just toss their seeds toward the not broken up soil as if to say, that’s it now God, make it grow!

“And the ones on the rock are those who, when they hear the word, receive it with joy. But these have no root; they believe for a while, and in time of testing fall away. And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature.”

‭‭Luke 8:13-14

I thought about my daddy and his potatoes, bothered that I couldn’t remember, did we go back to reap the harvest, dig up the little baby red potatoes? Did he get to see how well his last crop had grown, how abundant his harvest was that last year?

Jesus continues, explaining how we are made to flourish, lead others to flourishing.

“As for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭8:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The soil was always good where my daddy planted his garden. He had an honest and good heart, he was patient with his potatoes.

Daddy belonged among the farmers, I believe.

Maybe I, among the writers, the planters, the sowers and the patient, holding fast to be mature believers.

31 Days, Freely – Afraid

I see the cloud, I step in. I want to see Your glory like Moses did. Flashes of light and rolls of thunder. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid. Jesus Culture

Somewhere between the nightstand and the hallway, I misplaced my glasses. I want to turn back and look again, my hand unable to find them in the dark before the day.

My husband is sleeping, I’ll get by without them. Stepping into the air of day, the sky is pink behind the pines and I squint hoping to get an unobstructed view.

It’s not possible. I long for a wide open space, an expanse of empty field.

Like the place of my childhood, room to roam, to run, to see for miles to come.

I look up and I am welcomed. Little cotton ball clouds all clustered and I can’t get enough and yet so much more, always more.

The slow shifting sky above me, more and more to see.

The morning after deciding I might never be enough, this rushing into making up for lost time on wasted days and jumping into every chance for fear there will be no more!

A rejection, the fifth or six and I said to myself, well you’re not an encourager really, you can’t write an encouraging submission. Encouragement is not your voice.

I bet God just loves it when I talk to myself that way, it’s always either fear or truth. One way or the other, it’s growth.

Maybe Moses worried he was running out of time, afraid the calling and the task might not be complete.

He prayed and asked God to show Him the way, to show him His glory.

“And he said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.””

‭‭Exodus‬ ‭33:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God assured him, I’m gonna be with you and you’re gonna know without a doubt you’ve been in my presence, but I can’t show you everything, you won’t see my face.

God told Moses that he would lead him and that mercy would be shown along with goodness. Moses saw God walk away and nothing was ever the same.

Moses was not afraid.

Not afraid to be led and to lead.

Or that he would run out of time or provision.

The measure of my success is often skewed by my fear of not being enough, fear I won’t have the time or won’t choose to go on.

A futile mindset, until I was reminded by the sky and the glory and later, discovered my glasses at the foot of the bed and carried on, carried on anticipating the next time I’ll be reminded to notice God in my presence,

His glory reminding me, I am not afraid.

Linking up with others who are writing for 31days. I can’t say I’m following all the rules or that my presence is share-worthy encouragement, I’m just writing…Freely.

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

Careful with Words

Today, someone told me something I never expected to hear.

Nor could she know I’d been nagged by the same possibility, the same thought.

I’m sure she’d no idea I had abandoned one thing for another.

This first, it’s attainable, not scary.

I’d been detailing dissertation like understandings of truth and mostly they’d been falling on eyes and ears not receptive or just a handful of those who had treasured them.

And I do have a few, the ones who aren’t derailed by my truths.

They love my honesty, raw they say.

Avoidance, it seems; no,

it is.

Disengagement from the calling, the scary brave thing, sidelined and benched by my doubts and intentional delays.

Little hints of what I might say were I brave enough to write.

Everyday I think of it and I make sense of it, the story, its chronology, its flow.

The one I felt should be called “treasure”,

The Colors of my Bible…

Yet, I’ve not done what now two have suggested…give less time to the blog and write the manuscript…write without reservation.

Manuscript, not just blog or Instagram or Lord, help me…


Products, politics and pitiful stories, oh my goodness, Facebook, I love you, but won’t you please stop getting all promotional!

Here I am, now deciding to read the Proverb, 25 on the day, 25th.

Needing another reminder, an assurance of better day tomorrow.

And I’m certain. I’m convinced.

After reading the words on aged pages highlighted in pink.

No more avoiding the manuscript.

No more throwing my pearls to swine.

I’ll be more careful with my words, my words, mine to share.

Work and Life

I’m not working today, at least in not my paid position.

I’ll be welcoming travelers, refugees from the big storm, Irma.

I’ve planned it out, started last night.

The guest room comforter all fresh and clean, the bed the Labrador loves will need to be shared.

But, as soon as I’m done here in this morning spot, there will be more work done.

My sister and her family are evacuating here. My home is humble, but it will welcome them. My sweet, wise cousin said she wants to be with me because my house feels like Faith.

I really loved that thought.

So, in just a few, I’ll change from pajamas to work clothes and get going as planned, committed to finish by noon.

My prayer, the prayer of the quiet one, not so great at all things hospitable:

Lord, I pray you prepare my heart and from my heart flows nothing but love without reservation or expectation.

I meet needs everyday, or if I’m honest I just oversee the meeting of them. This is my job. Today, my work will be “home” work and opportunity to meet the need of family.

Giving, not receiving, the example of Jesus.

“And I have been a constant example of how you can help those in need by working hard. You should remember the words of the Lord Jesus: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ ”

‭‭Acts of the Apostles‬ ‭20:35‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Then, the mental list becomes to do:

Change linens

Vacuum sofas

Vacuum house (oh, the shedding of the Labrador!!!)

Clean bathrooms


Move dead plants from the pool

My house is humble with places of my heart all over it.

It is. I long for better sometimes, but then I work to be happy with my best.

Committed to my plan, I begin to prepare my place.

A refuge from storm, I pray, today.

And I do believe at the end of the day or in the midst of a storm, if my humble house is clean most anything is just a tiny bit better.

Linking up to write on the prompt of “work”.