Category: Grace

Rock, Paper, Scissors

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

How many times have I driven by simple beauty? The shades of green, from apple to spring bud, spring green, teal, lime, asparagus alone are blinding in their beauty. Shamrock green, chartreuse, jungle green and lawn green.  God created, man named.

And how many times have I walked out into my daily life blind and alone.  Seeing but not seeing.  Struggling when He was there.  Relying on my own strength and not His alone.

How overlooked is the bent oak bough reaching and calling and wooing me to take notice of her age and her magesty.  Her dripping grey scarves of moss and fresh green buds.

Her canopy of strength and protection.

Joan Chittister writes in “Illuminated Life, “–” Dailiness, routine, sameness frees the heart to traffic in more important matters  Mindless work…. is not a burden when the mind is full and the heart like a laser beam finds its way to God. …. We run from place to place and thing to thing, we skirt from idea to idea and do not recognize God in the humdrum of the day to day.  We give our souls no rest and find them dying from spiritual starvation when we need them most.”

In my routine of passing by I had opportunity to capture her beauty and her presence. God the Creator created this bold, rough, boughed up, twisted and bent oak.  I could notice it and thank. And  I could hear God calling me, by name.  If I would quiet my spirit.  If I will still my flesh and body. If I bend my heart and my ear to hear Him whisper.  And He does.


And so often like the single sheep or grazing cow away from the flock or herd, I wither.  He calls me back in community and He calls me back through His people.  I am redirected.  I am sheltered.

I refresh and am restored by stories so many in small groups and teachings that God has called me in.  Stories of bold faith, of pain and redemption.  Stories that point to perserverance through long periods of prayer. Stories that tell of forgiveness and love and relying on him.  Each story an individual God tale of His calling His people to Himself.

And I can authentically offer my story too.  The real and raw telling of his moving and sustaining. Because it points to Him and His love and His Grace.  When the masks come off and the real and true are shown, it is then that He can touch me and a story of Him and of all His Grace, all His Mercy, all  His greatness can go out into dark.

In my daily dailiness I want to stay in the shelter of His word.

In my routine I want His hemming in.

And in my blessed times of community and  being built up I want to be filled to overflowing with encouragement of His goodness.  To go out to bless and encourage others.

Rock, paper, scissors.  It was a game that was simple.  So very simple.  And I can use this childrens game to steer my mind back to God in all matters.

Rock –That the hard places of my heart would soften by the touch of His hand

Paper — That I would be encouraged by rustling the pages of His word. And staying there.  Meditating there.

Scissors — That He would cut away the rot, the sin, the masks, the inauthentic.  Surgically remove with the sharpest tools and the steadiest hands, that which does not bring Him Glory.

In a tough parenting moment middle child asked me why if he was to take responsibility of himself and his academic struggles would I get involved.  And I said we need accountability.  We all need accountability partners and friends who lovingly redirect us back.  And the Holy Spirit will gently do that if I allow Him to.  Why would I tell my child I will follow up to hold you to account?  Because accountability comforts and provides a check. Because the Shephard goes looking for the one lost sheep and the Shephard’s crook lovingly draws us back.  Because  His sheep know and hear His voice.  And they respond.  Because away from the Shephard away from the herd, I wither and I will not survive.  Because His loving correction always brings blessing.

Rock, paper, scissors.  A device for me to direct my heart back to His.

Easter is coming.  Celebration is peeking around the corner.  Joy wants to leap and spin and twirl around.

But first.

Lord, hold me to account.  Show me my sin.  My fake.  My unreal.  My inauthenic.  Lord, thank you for new mercies and clean slates and fresh starts.  What amazing grace.

Rock, paper, scissors.

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

This Is Hope

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

I’m glad from the inside out, ecstatic; I’ve pitched my tent in the land of hope. – Acts 2:26

“So speak encouraging words to one another.  Build up hope so you’ll all be together in this, no one left out, no one left behind. –1 Thessalonians 5:11

And this is hope.

Do you see Her. Present yet hidden.

Bright yet shadowed.

Brilliantly encouraging, pouring her Love out  in the darkness.

She gleams and shimmers and lights the unknown.

Whispering, come, take a step.

Take another, in Faith, don’t stay back.

Her invitation, gold leafed and signed with the pen of Grace, is issued in Love, hand-delivered.

She is confident, bold.

Boldly expectant.

She looks into the future and states with Love its good, its great, its waiting for you.

Did you see her uninvite despair to her party.  No gold-leaf invitations to the Dance.

She guarantees fear will not be apart of her life celebration.

Can you hear her, see her, and smell her fragrance.  Its sweet like jasmine vine with bees all swarming, buzzing all around.

Tell me you see her.

You will encourage me if you have.  If you do.  If you’re certain of Her.  Will you tell me how you held out for Her.  How you longed for Her and she lifted you on the days when you were weak and wet with tears.

And this is Hope.

Did you hear her quiet the spirit and still the heart.

Clearing the way for Joy.  Marking the path for Mercy and Grace.

She is pointing us, leading us to the heart of God.

Did you hear her behind the dark cloud singing her Heavenly praise notes of encouragement.

If you did, testify to it.

Tell of it.

Spread her around.

Her song is tender, her words are gentle, her spirit is calm.

This is Hope. I long for her today.

Knit, Woven, Loved

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 3 Comments

I ride down the familiar road,  Highway 17, my home away from home in this one zipcode town.

It comes through the radio, her voice a bit shaky.  I am used to half listening to her words, waiting instead to enter into heart singing or true singing with the next praise song.

She tells of a movie she has previewed which has left a mark on her. It is obvious she has been touched, moved by the story. I bend my ear, and listen, really listen.

And as she tells of the film, the charachters, the storyline I am a bit punched in the gut at the familiar places in my life.

This Weaver-God Creator-God has built with love like a mosaic of glorious stained glass my family, our family through adoption and through biological birth.

What a lavish, extravagant gift is a child.  A child entering into the heart of the home through a gateway of love.  Released in love by the arms of a mother.  Into the arms of a mother.

It is the DNA of my family.  My heart rests on this movie plot as it is shared by a audibly moved film-goer.  The familiar chords it strikes resound and playback in my head and in my heart.

It is always, everytime without fail, a word that remains tender so tender to me, adoption.  And yes, oh yes, I want to see this story on the big screen about how God has chosen and woven and moved in multiply lives, multiple families with His Grace and Mercy.

As I drive I try to discern the levels of tenderness of this particular story from just a short review on the radio.  And I see an amazing prelude  to my yearning after this story, having posted the music video here on this blog just days earlier for “October Baby.”

There are likely many differences between this story and ours, mine.  But the very strong chain which links families touched by adoption is there. The common thread, it weaves, it binds, it sews.  It stirs the heart.  Like the  two extra large knitting needles knitting one, pearl two form a masterpiece blanketing warmth of love and family. Two moms touch one life.

I light up and link hearts in a distinctly unique way with other moms of adoptive children.  It binds hearts.  A community within a community exits. And I am grateful to be, to humbly be, a part.

Psalm 139:13-  14 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!

Jeremiah 29:11-13 I know what I’m doing.  I have it all planned out–plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.  When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen.  When you come looking for me, you’ll find me.

?v=FM1CBCNU