Tag: Blessings

Art Bus Project {Roll With It Baby}

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

What will it look like to look out from the inside, out past the self, into the eyes of the others, and open the heart to love with Jesus’ love through art?

And creativity. And joy. And with new paradigms for spreading the gospel?

Or newer for this writer. But isn’t He a God of new each time.  Doesn’t he create, and re-create, and make all things. new.

The tools are willing hearts, a big bus, a little bus, bubbles, a grill, and art supplies.  I imagine. I don’t  know all the details. There are ways in which the trip, which starts  (or continues) for me tomorrow, is still evolving. But I need only know He loves and lovingly provides. Resting in His provision with each turn of a plane wheel, or bus tire, its all we really need.

The adventure is in the stepping out, and into, and onto, and with, and beside. It’s following. With the spirit  leading the way. Trust bending the head in gentle agreement, yes we are on board. Yes, we hear this call.  Yes, we know He has a plan. And it is good.  It always is.  It always was.  

It’s  in imagining how The Creator will and does lovingly use creativity to reach and speak and draw in with love. Everytime there is love.

So here for the next six days I will share everything I can about this studio with a mission.

This art bus. The one that we are rolling with.

The one we are riding on. Weaving our way from Brooklyn to Charleston.

We know a little, we don’t know a lot.

But we know and love the One that does know. Oh, He knows the plans, His plans for a colorful, joyful, creative ministry. And when we step out and trust and watch as He reveals, we will be blessed observers and participants in His kindgom plans for a string of souls, the ones that He will love and who will love us along the way.

Isn’t the story still being written.  Mine is.

Doesn’t He ask us to be willing vessels. We know that no one will be more blessed than those going to serve.  Those intending to be used by God to bless, will in fact receive the blessings. With humility. Honored to have any role at all.  That he would trust and entrust with anything of even small importance to Him.  Loving and reaching His children.

We hope not to waste any chance along the way, on the ride. To stay alert and awake and sensitive to His whispers of how and when and where to go. When to speak and when to listen.

If you are following here for the next six days, thank you for your interest and your prayers. And if you have friends who want to ride along on these pages here, invite.(And follow along here too.)

And we will watch with expectant hearts to see colorful joy spread in a stroke of His love down the eastern seaboard.

Oh the privilege of being a part. Oh the joy in being in a community on a bus with a mission, along for the ride, as The Creator creates a story of art displayed in love for Him.

May all the Glory and Honor be His.

Counting Gifts with Ann, at A Holy Experience.

*Attending my niece’s graduation with my daughter…. oh the family time. Oh the bread , doesn’t it always accompany a celebration.  The joy surrounding this milestone was oozing out for days.  So grateful to be a part and to have a wellspring of memories of laughing and remembering.

*A long, very long visit with a childhood friend whom I hadn’t seen, really seen and talked with at length, for over 24 years. For laughter in the restaurant that drew stares and remarks. The remarks of one bystander caused me to realize anew how valuable and even priceless this friendship is.

*Sitting with wisdom and hearing new insight into a parent struggle. Regaining and reclaiming hope to shift somethings. Replenished reserves of hope leading to optimism and new beginnings for leading and encouraging differently.

*Time with my daughter on a recent trip, the getting reaquainted time after a very long school year which kept her so busy.

*Getting on a plane tomorrow with her to walk out in Faith this art bus project

*Going to Brooklyn with her to shop, have lunch, explore before we begin the true ministry portion of the trip.

*Plans for lots of time as a family in our beloved moutains at the old family home.  Memories to be made and savored and secured under the roof with three generations.  A huge gift.

Linking up with these fine ladies today, Michelle, Ann, and Laura

The Rich Soil of Childhood

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

…think of prayer as the breath in our lungs and the blood from our hearts. Our blood flows and our breathing continues ‘without ceasing’; we are not even conscious of it, but it never stops.– Oswald Chambers

I step out to the raised garden to check on the tomato plants.

I measure the growth, the progress.

The Patient One planted a beautiful herb and vegetable garden here in raised beds for us, for summer goodness and nutrient rich deliciousness for our home, our plates, our sustenance.

But I can’t see past the tears.

All I see are the big bulging  stalks and stems like veins. And the babies, the green ones.

They are my children. They are my pink babies.

I see the green fuzzy veins pulsing with blood and nutrients.

And wonder on the past nutrients in their soil.

Was it rich in its provision? Was everything they needed to grow and thrive in their soil?
For their growth.

Is all that runs through their fuzzy veins, from the soil where they are planted rich and good?

And I come into the house to pray, for my three and others.

And look for ways to fertilize them with love this day.

wynnegraceappears

Life’s Ooh’s and Aah’s

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

We have a little family joke that started with my grandmother.  She would ooohhh and aaah at every gift that was opened at Christmas and  any and all special occasions. It was delightful behavior  to be around as a child.

Pure joy.  Pure excitement.  Unrestrained rejoicing.

She, my Gama, was a child of the Great Depression.  One of thirteen children, she was appreciative of everything.  So when the bows and the wrapping were thoughtlessly tossed aside, she would gather up the bows and salvage any of the wrapping she could.  She’d gather and save.

And as each gift was revealed she would say, with her beautiful big smile and her beautiful big eyes, oooh and then aaaah.  She just simply delighted in the gift and the moment.  Large. Small.  Modest.  Simple.

The gift didn’t matter.  It was just the moment and the exchange, ever so small between family.

So we adopted this custom.  Truthfully we poke mild fun at her dramatic response as we  have family fun ooohing and aahhing over the unwrapping of gifts. We remember her.  Her joy.

But truly, isn’t life more fun when we celebrate the small unwrappings.  Delighting in the small things that border on just mundane.  When we celebrate small milestones, or small joys.  When we take a moment to rest in a moment of beauty.

Breaking out a smile, broad and wide, all toothy and glistening over a kind remark from a devoted friend, a text of encouragement or endearment from a woman who walks out life with you, an email that says simply. ” I am missing you terribly.”

Aren’t these moments worth busting out cheerfulness and joyfulness.

I delivered news this morning to a friend which I felt would disappoint and maybe cause her to feel that I had let her down.  Her response was one of affirmation.  You are choosing rightly, you are doing as you should, go and enjoy and have fun.  This is important, she says to me.

We have been deep cleaning and spring cleaning my house.  I look on the fruits of the shared labor, and smell the clean, and see some progress toward de-cluttering. I smile and say this is good.  This is better.  I am encouraged.

Such small things often delight the heart.  And they are worth taking a moment to say, “This is good.” To give it a simple label of “nice” or “good” or “beautiful” or “kind”. To release an ooh or an aahh over a favorite meal when fellowshipping with family or friends.  This is good. This is yummy.

Finding the moments that are gifts of life, ever so small and allowing them to be named as good.  To savor for more than a second.

This morning for me it was the smell of cut grass.  They say that the sense of smell is the memory which we hold on to the longest.  I don’t know if that is true, but a wave of memories poured into my bedroom and delighted my soul as I thought of times that were good as fragrant cut grass stimulated my memories, all tucked away and resting.

Words were said.  There was a disagreement.  I would not have won any mother of the year awards for my part, for my responses to the situation.  But in a moment of reconciliation my child told me how very much he loves me.

I was humbled.  I am deeply touched by a love that forgives and works through and doesn’t stay stuck.  This is good.  This is healing.  I stop and say this is unexpected grace.

I am looking for things to celebrate this weekend.  We are cheerfully and happily celebrating a graduation of a precious young woman in our life.  We love her so and we rejoice at this milestone.

But I am looking to rejoice in the small things too. The little oooh’s and the little aaah’s.  The shell on the beach, the giggle around the table, the crisp spring air with birds singing overtime, a clean fresh start for some places in my home, a comment in love, a comment in friendship, a word of encouragement. A gesture toward forgiveness.  A gesture toward healing.  A word of praise.  A word of thanksgiving.

I am seeking to rejoice in all that He gives.  And while I don’t have my Gama’s eyes which saw the world so differently than I, I can seek to  see what the Lord has placed before me as blessing and gift.

The tide comes in, the tide goes out.  The bumps and bruises and dust ups in life will come and go.  But I choose today to look for joy.

Will you join me. Won’t you join me. It’s more fun doing life together.

Wonderful Weekend Full Of Grace, to you all.

And may you ooooh and aahh all weekend long at all the joy that comes your way.

Blessings….

wynnegraceappears

My Favorite One

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

I don’t know why this is my favorite one.  

But it sings to my soul.  Gentle.  Sweet.  Tender. This picture.  On the surface it’s really nothing special.  But to this momma it is filled with foreshadowing.  It knows so much.  It holds so much within its frame of what will always be.

There is this  perpetual path that leads  out and away.  And this reminds me so plainly in its black and white way that it is daily and it is certain….

There is a breaking away with bits of us. Pieces and parts of the ones that held hard with blood and often tears. Or held on hard in hope and with prayer.  Or held on to deep longlng for with trust and an assurance. That He gives us gifts.  Including these.  These children.  We steward their lives.  Watching over.  Guarding.  Protecting and sheltering.  While a slow and steady breaking away rips and tears and takes.   We give.  We give in love.  Sacrificially.  Lovingly.  Sometimes with teeth clenched, and hands white knuckling love.  We loose the grip and allow the breaking.

We say good bye, hundreds of times.  We hear the door shut, the gravel rumble and tires spin.  We see the backs of the head.  The backside of lives.  Off to school, off to play, off to camp, off to war- to fight the battles of their day.  Off to joy, off to pain, off to just be and suck on slushies.  Or to just be over a slice of pizza at youth group. To talk of life with trusted adults about how to navigagte the seas in a rocking boat. How to be wise and brave.

But the back turned, facing away, toward the sea.  Turned away.  Turned from me. Its what I see as beauty. The head down looking on the path.  Avoiding splinters in the barefeet.  Or avoiding worse pain. The hands held in love.  For security.  Held like three strands of a braid.  Holding like we all do to another.  To steady.  To balance.  To feel warm blood rushing through another, to sense the pulse of someone else. Huddled up.  Grouped up.

That with all the teaching and preaching and telling, showing, explaining, admonishing, cajoling they will navigate more on their own everyday of their lives.  Every day brings them closer to independence.  Every day takes them a step away from this home.

I have a deep assurance that they won’t ever go too far, or be gone too long, or have long periods of absence.  In this short term. But life could really take them far and wide and oceans of space could separate us one day. I trust.  I release. And I pray that God keeps them tethered tightly to this momma. Leaving is natural.  Going is part of living.

But there are those who sacrifice and release in ways that I will probably never have to.

We have known one such mother very briefly.  Time is hard to measure.  How long were we in her presence.? Time stood still.  Each moment of joy magnified time.  New and tender mercies take all attention.  Time has no form of measurement.  It is a blur. Heart pounding joy stops clocks, stops the earth.  Stops all but the joy moment.  It calls all things to itself to be and watch and listen in love.

She impacts my life daily.  Her love and her releasing take my breathe away. Her life touched mine. Then changed mine forever.

She is sacrifice.  She is love.  She is the birthmother of our son.

It has been 17 and a half years since I stood in a room and had her pass in love indescribable her son, our son, into my arms.  How God orchestrates a moment like this leaves me numb in love. Seeing brave bold love and looking it right in the eyes changes. It writes on a place in your insides.  It carves deep lettering in the flesh and right on the heart wall.  It scribbles out love, selfless love.  It carves out stark and plain and simple. A deep giving of tremendous sacrifice.

I don’t know brave that speaks like this.  I can’t find places where I can show gratitude and gratefulness here at Mother’s Day, for her.  I can only tell her story in a shadow, but tell it boldy and proclaim the enormous space it takes up in my heart.

She turned and walked out of our lives 17 years ago.  But she left a mark. A precious child.  I know she would look on him becoming a man and I know she’d see him through momma’s eyes as I, that he is fine.  And he is special.  And he is love with flesh and bones walking.  He will do and be great things. He knows he is loved.  He knows God.

Happy Mother’s day to a kind, brave, and generous birthmother.  We love him deep and wide.  And if you could look right there, you would see, in black and white,that he is loved by one adoring brother. And by one adoring sister. And hovering in the background, one momma too.

Its a favorite one. I just had to share.

Mother’s Day is really something more, its Givers Day and humble Receivers Day. To all the Givers and all the Receivers of life, and children. And love.  Happy Day.

{This photograph was taken by Gail Lunn many/several years ago!! I am grateful.  She is talented. Thank you for this wonderful favorite picture, Gail}