Category: Friends

Small Important Things

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

 1 Peter 3:8-12- Summing up: Be agreeable, be sympathetic, be loving, be compassionate, be humble.  That goes for all of you, no exceptions  No retaliation.  No sharp-tongued sarcasm.  Instead, bless- that’s your job, to bless.  You’ll be a blessing and also get a blessing.  Whoever wants to embrace life and see the day fill up with good, Here’s what you do:  Say nothing evil or hurtful;  Snub evil and cultivate good; run after peace for all you’re worth.

Feet, bare.  Feet, tender hit sand then shell, beach walking on this glorious day. This Easter Monday day all wrapped in bluesky canopy. Canyons of solitude soak in the soul.  Calm pierces gentle this time of solace and quiet therapy.

Registering the hot, the hard, the sharp, the rough.  Tender feet.  TENDER.  And my thoughts do a mind drift, off untethered on a mile long stretch of beach.  Drift over sand dune, dip and dive over windswept island, small with welcome written all over her.  Alone in this beauty.  Alone as I catch up to myself , and with myself.

And I step on a small beach twig.  There among the sharpest of broken shell shards lie twigs that break my stride with pain.

And I wonder how so often the smallest and most unexpected things that come my way bear the biggest pain.

How a word or phrase or look can rob joy and break beautiful in half.  Shatter the happy into broken. Stain the laughter with tears.  How does the sensitivity to all make sensitivity itself a vehicle for pain.

In the tender places of the heart, is tough the opposite of tender.

Does ignore shield the soft places of the insides from hurt.

Will vulnerable always catch the unintended slight, not sent out by design to harm or wound.

I walk.  I ponder.  I wrestle.

Shrimpers nets  drag the water for the one intended goal of copious amounts of glorious shrimp,  but the unintended fills the nets as well.  The unintended get caught in the nets and mingle with the bounty.  Litter the boat deck ,waiting to be returned to the sea as waste and refuse.  Weighing down the fragile netting are unwanted sea treasures.  The nets become receptacles of all.  Pick through save.  Pick through discard. The trash takes up room intended for treasure.

David writes in Psalm 139, “God, investigate my life; get all the facts firsthand.  I’m an open book to you; even from a distance you know what I’m thinking.  You know when I leave and when I get back; I’m never out of your sight.   You know everything I’m going to say before I start the first sentence. I look behind me and you’re there, then up ahead and you’re there, too- your reassuring presence, coming and going.  This is too much, too wonderful– I can’t take it all in!”

And David continues in Psalm 139, “Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out; you formed me in my mother’s womb.  I thank you, High-God you’re breathtaking!  Body and soul, I am marvelously made!  I worship in adoration–what a creation!”

“Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth; all the stages of my life were spread out before you.   The days of of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day.”

The nets take it all in and release that which has no value, which will burden the nets with added weight.  The weight  which rips and tears at the fabric, requiring stitching sewing and repairing before being let out again.

Repairing the damage.  Stitching the holes, the holes in the receiver  of all in a sea of life. The Blessings and that which needs throwing back.  That which requires casting aside and over and away.

And I know that one small word can bring blessing and encouragement. One small phrase can build up, restore hope, lead to healing.

And one word can cut and bruise and sting.

How I have wounded and stung with a glance my eyes.  How quickly words have shot out without carrying gentle and kind and tender with them.

I wince at the moments of calluous and misspoken moments.  Where opportunity to bless and encourage were missed.

Where I was the twig.  Where I did not run after peace.  Where I was the broken shard of shell hurting the heel of a brother or sister in Christ,  or child, or husband, or stranger or friend.

I have been the stinging word deliverer.  I have been the messenger of hurt.  I have delivered words that lead to tears.

The tender and sensitive that God wove in me have slept and remained idle while I placed hurt at the threshold of another life.  Intended , unintended delivered nonetheless.  My small has been their large.  My flippant has been their signficant.

New mercy mornings bring His Grace, His Mercy, His Love and new found energy to run after peace.

And the nets go out.  The words go out.  The hearts go out.

Return with abundance by His hand. Fill and heal. Tender mercies new each day. Give Grace and tenderness to gently deliver to all we  touch in our always wonderful sometimes messy often tender-hearted lives.

Running hard after the Peace.

Let’s Go Out To The Porch

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

We disuss this piled in family time.  Time with families.

We plan, we mothers directors of the play, contemplating our moves of time, like pieces of chess.

And we lift up this pilgrimmage to the porch where memories of babies and children and heart talks seep into the boards like the battleship gray stain.

Life is marked here.  This porch.  This memory repository for us.

Why do we long to go there.  What is this siren’s song calling us to come.  The breeze off the waterway calms and soothes and rustles up the past.  It stirs the heart to release here in this place.  Dump burden, dump worry here.  Its a sanctuary for pain.

Is it the sleeping porch knows how to rest the mind and the spirt.  Bibles stack here and start days here.

The palms billow like sails and whisper their rustling sound to the burdened soul, the tired soul.

She has seen weddings and witnessed crashing in of conversation.  This porch, like the matriarch tested through trials and tears.  She has wiped them, caught them.

We know to carve out time here, we momma planners.  We memory holders and keepers can tell stories of belly laughs, wicker rockers crazy rocking and generations piled up on laps while the world stopped here.  Stopped for us.  To catch up with ourselves.  To catch up with each other.  To fill the storehouses of life with story.

And we know that the giver of all good things, Father God, has more for us.  He always does.  So we carve out time and make time.  To start scavenger hunts here, to dye Easter Eggs with grown and semi-grown children.

Time to generation huddle.  To brush off the day in story.  The fish caught, the shells found, the sun burn worn like battle wounds of days battling the surf, the sea, the salt. The dinner bell rings and we feast on food and more.  We feast on life.

And we know as mommas that stories linger and die to be told.  The ones of love and life.  Dragonflies frenzied pace win the title of fastest moving creature as we linger.  And stars may fall or stars may stay pinned to the sky.  Either way we witness.

We pick story out of black dark night and early morning still.  We rockers and readers and dwellers in His word.

We launch boats into the sea with children here.  We welcome home the ones caught in the storms that blew in, from the sea, from this life.  We embrace them on the return.

The porch calls us to come here.

She calls to the weary to rest.

The joyful to celebrate.

The Glad of Heart to testify.

The discouraged to find encouragement,

The sea-seeker to delight in the salt of life.

We long for this respite place.  This stage set for living.  This place where laps are filled with friends or children, doubled up and rocking.

Where laps hold babies and bearded off-spring of the womb too.  The never too olds to call for mommas.

The laps hold promise and encouragement.  They hold tender touch of word and hand.

This porch for us says come to me.  And talk of Him.  And all He’s done.  And all He’ll do.

And bring your baskets, your eggs, your treasures.  But prepare your hearts for the more than they could ever hold.

Let’s go out to the porch this day.

Do You See The Gifts – Nestled and Tucked Away

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

Nestled – to settle snugly and comfortably, to lie in a sheltered position, to draw or press close, lie or be situated in a half-hidden or obscured position.”
Nestle – To lie or be located in a sheltered spot, to be naturally or pleastantly situated. To house in or as if in a nest.

Do I see them there, the nestled gifts in my life?

Do I count and name and mark as packages of life and love from Him all those tucked away goodnesses?

Do I see myself in that nest of His creation, the secure, safe position of closesness to Him.  The place of resting close to Him.  Of being pleasantly housed in the safety and security of His love and shelter.

Will Trust walk along side and adjust my lense to see my beautifully gifted circumstances, no matter what they are and what they bring.

If I invite him.

Will Trust re-align my heart so that all is always viewed  through the lense of His Grace, pointing and leading toward His plan and His will.  Will Trust do that for me if I soften and release and bend to that place of surrender?

Will I permit my heart and my life to rest in His loving grip? And house my life, my childrens lives in the nest of His provision.

I can see them there, all of them,  most of them right under the bridge of my nose, lent to me, given to me and placed on the silver platter that is His provision.

They are wrapped in laughter, surrendered to sleep, marching defiantly through the door.

They are in need of love and forgiveness and patience.

They are in need of a clean shirt, pants pressed, longing to be clothed in properly fitting and styled garments.  Longing to be clothed in love, mercy, grace and forebearance.

They are belly-laughers, and belly-achers.  They are puffed with pride and laid low by humility.  Hurt and beaten-up.  Loved up and weary.  They are fatigued with fighting and striving.

And they are emptied out and proud, turning back to the heart of Him.

They are seeking and struggling, yearning and longing.  These gifts are hungry and battle-scared.

And like bird in nest, they squawk squeak, cry out beak open for nurishment, sustenance from sustainer- God, provider-God.  Gift-giver-God.

They are dressed in uniform, ready to run the race.  To wear the victory, wear the defeat.  Shed the tear, celebrate the victory with the cries of happy warrior.  Arms flailing, spinning in joy of moment of celebration and song.

And I can hear them.  Gifts all loud and happy.  Loud and mad.  Loud and pressing in with defining self, and growing up self, and finding self.  I hear the flesh asserting, demanding, crying out in hungry need.  For this and for that and for those things.

And I sense like soft, gentle cheek breezes, gifts under nose and gifts covered up.

Lost under shuffle of life and hurry.  Gifts under confetti sky of lunch with friends while fruit trees drop spent blossoms on noses like He  announces His presence, as if we doubted He was there.  Invitation goes out in Grace, Lord be in our conversation.  Lord be in our moment of fellowship.  He came, as He does.

Gift-giver.  Lover of respite.  Lover of community and friendship and linked hearts.

And I see them, these beautifully wrapped gifts,  long like unending jet stream streaks in blue sky, sky streamers, heaven ribboning. Long, conversations. Long, life ponderings and musings. With these soul sisters, red lipped momma friends. Deep down gut laughs.  Deep un-masking, authentic presentation of life journeys. Safely harbored, safely moored in moments of linked momma hearts.

Extending ear, lending heart.  Preceeding conversation with safely guarded sanctuary of trust and acceptance.

And I see these gifts in furrowed brow, angry tone, loving smile, extended ear, apologetic offerings, prayer on phone, sweet good byes, abrupt hello’s, news of pain, and news of joy, moments of correction, parent-speak, momma pleas, disappointment, second chances and messy life.

So my thank you notes, penned, spoken, whispered, muttered, under-my-breathe and out in the open are these words in part —- the gifts are precious, they are many, and I am blessed.

And each is kissed by lips of humility. Written by broken flesh, and unworthy hands.

Yet sealed in the shadows of the cross.

Thank you for all.

Thank you for each.

Grace-fully Gratefully Yours,

wynnegraceappears

Always Remember To Call On Joy

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 4 Comments

Don’t forget to invite Joy to your next gathering.

You will be so glad you did.

She’ll bring her belly laughes, her love and outstretched arms.

She’ll brighten up the places which felt a little dark and sad.

She will shine friendship all over the room and sprinkle like confetti her glad heart.

Don’t forget to ask her to bring her friends Grace and Goodness.

They really light up the room with their gracious goodness.

“Proverbs 3:14 She’s worth far more than money in the bank; her friendship is better than a big salary.

Dd Do a  favor and win a friend forever; nothing can untie that bond — Provers 18:19

Friends come and friends go, but a true friend sticks by you like family. — Proverbs 18:24

And if you ask her to come you won’t regret it.

Not even one little bit.

She will roll out the red carpet and shower the day with her silly laughter. And delight will  rule the day.

Don’t be surprised if she brings gifts and radiant smiles and encouragement along for the ride.

And abundant, gracious hospitality will likely come with her.  That Joy.

She never disappoints.  She is a girls best friend when life bumps and bruises.

  She will bring Encouragement and Celebration along, if you will just graciously allow her some  room to spread out and spread her Glory.

Delight in her always.  She is a Joy to have around.

She’ll help you celebrate the life of friends, the gift of friends, and the precious goodness of life with friends.

And you’ll never want the party to end, once  she lights up the room , that Joy with her amazing power to heal and bring blessing.

Every bite of food and sip of drilnk will be enhanced by her presence.

And you will feel loved, cherished and embraced by the warmth of her sweet sweet spirit.

For more beauty and joy click on the link below for some Joy notes.

Wishing you a joyous week,

wynnegraceappears

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