Part 2- You’re Never Sorry You Knocked

Music for Mom’s as you prepare your heart, prepare your home for all things in this sometimes loud always wonderful life of Grace.  Did I say sometimes messy?

wishing His Grace….. as you Relax and Rest.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

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.

Color It Joyful

The dessert before the main course, stealing some crumbs of Hope and Joy from the Easter Banquet.  Early, too early. Maybe.

Dipping into the Easter chocolate as a child before church on that glorious morning.  Perhaps.

The hot pink banner, the purple font.

The music.

The proclamation of whats to come.

The stories told and retold of God’s Grace ifuse life with the Easter New.

She sits in my home, the life notes spilling out and over lips like music from the saxaphone jump and jive.  Eye ball to eye ball.  She testifies to God’s amazing weaving of intiricate detail.  Thread upon thread He has begun what only He can do.

He is blessing and working in her life.  She sees.  She tells.  Her smile would have told it all, but there was more.

The embryonic work, the new of her life and life’s work fragile yet growing in Love.

The metaphor of her new life is of a baby.  Still in utero.  Not yet birthed.  My mother’s heart can wrap understanding around this picture of the fragile nature of each new part being formed in Love, with Care.

He is growing it with carefulness and tenderness.  And they, called to this, witness each tender shoot of the new.  Pushing forth and out into the world, like lime green life stalks press through chocolate soil to present their bouquet of color.

The story fragments of up to this point form a beautiful extravagant mosaic of His faithfulness. Each fragment, each shard of pottery from the Potters hand forming a masterpiece.  Stand back a bit and focus your lense of love and its clearly there.

Her story. Its hers.  Its His.  Its ours.  Its mine.

Beautiful shards and pieces and fragments coming together over  time to form the masterpiece.

The love of this women for her new baby in utereo, this church plant, is a wondrous thing. And I sit eyeball to eyeball, resting on the babysteps and sharing the joy.

And baby downy woodpecker interrupts and turns our attention.  Our gazes shifts to the downy new with a swipe of red.  A breathe, a break in this conversation is ushered in by feathers on feeder.

His new and his beauty catch us up in his moment.

His hunger at feeder at needed seed for his growth slow us down.

He lingers and builds strength, allowing us to watch.  And we do.

Partakers in the beauty of this fleeting stage of his developement.  We women.  We freeze our eyes on wing and beak and wisp of red.

And we talk of our little lime green shoots. Her three and my three. Growing and going on.  Some walking out His plan for after college, in college, heading to college.  We bear witness of their growth and we take in where we are.

Color it all joy.

Name it all His Grace.

Cherish each shard and fragment of this life, these pieces, these gifts.  Each were it only a single piece would be abundant life.  But there are hundreds and thousands of life gifts. Wrapped. There to unwrap.

We break bread together and we gaze too at my Easter tree.  Each wooden egg a symbol of her story of new.  Embyonic. Breaking through the shell, life moments. The whats to come and what has come.  New life.  New beginnings.

And they tell of my story and your story too.

Color it JOY. Colored by Grace. Bold and bright and new.

Unwrap His Joy, His Gifts of this day.

Looking toward the Cross, looking toward Easter Day.

But waiting too for all He does in this waiting.  He does great things in the waiting.

Coloring it Joyful in the waiting.

Gracefully yours,

wynnegraceappears