Tag: Christian Faith

What Happens When A Monkey Mind Writes A Blog Post?

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 28 Comments

I wish you were here.

Well not really because you’d see the laundry basket and quite frankly it would scare you. Well maybe not scare, but it might freak you out. Well not that either, but you might not want to stay long because you’d want to free me up to “Just Do It.”

And if you were here I might ask you to run a soccer shirt to one school and a phone and a volleyball jersey to another school. And I might ask you to feed the cat and dogs.

And then I’d ask you to be a good listener. So I could tell you what it felt like to sit beside a man with Parkinson’s Disease and a single mother, with another single mother two down, last night at a volleyball match. I was in the middle.

Did you read the title of this post? Ok. Do you think I should change it? I don’t either.

And I might take you with me to the window to see the HUGE, I mean two HUGE spider webs that are like goal posts outside the window. And we could talk about the God Art and how lovely the sun is on them. And whether you think they are as spectacular as I do.

Now tell me are you still here? Did I run you off yet. Sheesh, I hope not. Because I know you have a choice and you may unsubscribe or not come back or unfollow which are all your choice. And BELIEVE ME, I would understand.

Did you think I was going to tell you more about my friend with Parkinson’s Disease? I was. I am. (Do you think I am rushing today a little too much? I am.) He asked me last night if I was still working. Then I asked him the same thing. He said he’s not because of his “mind” and he then told me of his recent diagnosis. I saw his right hand quivering. He said he misses work because he misses having something to do. I gave him a lollypop. No really I did.

Did I tell you dementia runs in my family. It does. Did I tell you two people in my family have ADD. I have written about that. Did I tell you I don’t. Wait, don’t look so surprised.

Did you think there was a point to that.

Well I want to ask you to help me with the running around and the washing of clothes so I can sit and write, and do art, and make art. And write my hybrid proety, proems and such.

And write my friend in Peru, the little girl I sponsor Erlita. Because did I tell you it can take three months for her to receive my letter? For the Compassion children to receive letters. So I want to write one now.

For some reason, and I believe God put it on my heart, while I can I want to help Compassion International.

And I want to pray for my family member with Dementia and my friend with Parkinson’s Disease and my really good friend who is a single mother. And I want to figure out the best way to love my children while discipling them and encouraging them as they grown into responsible people.

It is really important  that I raise responsible children who don’t leave their phones and sports stuff at home. Because I get one chance to get it right with them. I don’t really know what that means because there is nothing left to chance to raising children. God’s got this with me. Oh yeah that other chance, like opportunity.

Did you read the title of this blog post? Do you think I should change it. Good, I don’t either.

I want to tell you more but its gotten quiet and I think some of you have left. Before you leave will you visit the Compassion Sponsorship page and pray for the kids who need sponsors. And will you join me in praying for my new friend Erlita?

I can’t wait to hear from her. I will tell you about it when the letter arrives, if any of you are still reading by then. (This is Ella and she has nothing to do with the post but I am trying not to forget to go feed three dogs).

While I can write I want to write. While I can pray I want to pray. If you all could help with the laundry, I could go write the prayer I am trying to write to pray for Compassion. Well big C compassion and little c compassion, but mostly big C.

You know if you have never left a comment, today would be a really good day to. Because my monkey mind and I are feeling like we lost all our friends with our laundry and our craziness. So saying hello would be particularly well-timed. And you can go to my facebook page (wynnegraceappears on Facebook) if you are handing out affirmation and cyber-hugs today. And if you are feeling exceptionally generous you can share this on your facebook page.

Oh, I saw you click over to Compassion and pray. That was awesome. Thank you. I know it means a lot to the children.

Linking with Jennifer today.
And with Duane at Unwrapping His Promises at Scribing The Journey dot com.

And with Mary Beth at New Life Steward dot com.

And with Ann at A Holy Experience dot com for Walk With Him Wednesdays

And also with Emily
The purple zinnia and butterfly photograph used above is a gift from my friend H.M. Miller (isn’t she talented). I love her to pieces. She sent me the picture I used for the Mother Teresa quote. Thanks Harriett.

Thanksgiving In July

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 9 Comments

They move from event to event, stoic, chin-up with game faces squarely on.

Determined, fierce-competitors, steely-glass eyes starring the moment directly in the face without blinking. Unflinching. Taking on the challenges with grace.Brave. Unwavering. Strong. And appearing to all the world as though they have no fear.

Mighty warriors on the world stage. Grace on display in diminuative packages. And they amaze.

I watch these young Olympians strong-jawed and graceful, gymnasts who take my breath away with their poise, beauty,and skill packed in lovely small packages of pure muscle.

They are like marathon runners pacing their emotion. Pacing the celebration and victorious grins and all-out over-joyed thanksgiving for their wins, the milestones.

Because until they are finished, they must pack their bags and unwrap their wrist-wrappings and move to the next big event.

But I am not an Olympic gymnast. Very far from it. But sometimes if I am not careful I will move fists clenched and jaw tight from one event to another without stopping to rest in moments of thanksgiving and praise for God’s goodness.

And I have seen God’s goodness in many areas of my life. So I have to stop. And be still for long moments of the heart. To let myself catch up with my living. To let the soul soak in the worth savoring. Because I have seen break-through’s and they are worthy of noting with praising lips.

They are worthy of big Alleluias and Hallelujahs back to the Giver. They deserve a return of praise. They require a thank you note of the heart.

If I am not careful I will race ahead without engaging my heart and soul in a long grateful embrace. The moment worth the long savor risks being passed over. The answered prayer of the heart and lips risks going by without an outpouring of gratitude.

I will rush ahead of myself and God into the forward moving moments of life. Without rightful praise. Without rightful thanksgiving. Without giving the breakthrough its long celebration of being born into my life. I risk being stalled out and stuck in a place of forward moving living which races into the next without pausing and looking long on the beautiful miraculous milestones of God gifts of the now.

The now is so deserving. The right this minute is so worthy of marking and noting. And of celebrating.

I see these as the happy middles. No longer wanting to desire only the happy endings in life, but rather finding joy in the happy middle moments. The good stuff on the way. The stumble upon small things which are truly grand. Like the small Olympic gymnasts we pack a pint sized punch, these little life-moments are grander and more glorious than we often give them credit for. They are huge if we but stop and marvel.

Just because its good. And just because The Giver of Good Gifts, a holy God, has given with and in Love.

If I miss the opportunity to walk into His presence with praise, I miss a holy moment of intimacy with God. And we were made by Him to praise Him. The praiseworthy moments then, are just what we were created for.

And some just seem due a longer pause, a wider smile, and an even more joyful heart. I don’t know why they seem to stand out, accept that when you journey with Him and cry out to Him, and pray to Him, there are moments which feel so glorious. Maybe its the ones we thought we’d never live to see. Or maybe its the ones that come after long periods of drought or what feels like extra-long waiting. Maybe its the ones which look so transformative as to have God’s mark, His handiwork so beautifully displayed that we are in awe. Of His Goodness. And His Love. Maybe it’s the ones that have a bit of the prodigal son peppered in the narrative.

That God in His mercy works beautiful gifts into  every day is worth an outpouring of gratitude every day. But sometimes it feels hand-stamped,hand-delivered right to the door of our hearts. Because it is.

It always is when it comes from God. And thanks be to Him, the Giver of Good Gifts.

Counting gifts today. And it truly feels like Thanksgiving in July. And grateful to Ann and her book 1000 Gifts for helping point me in a grateful direction of the heart.

*a beautiful worship service yesterday with glorious music and a very very funny guest preacher. Joy in the laughter echoing all through the sanctuary.

*a transformation in a relationship. Restoration, love, and tenderness.

*a moment to mark and celebrate a moment with a mother in church which involved seeing great things in the lives of our sons.Seeing her beautiful tears of joy at God’s hand in our lives. A gift.

*Seeing my man/child in his new home loving His job and seeing glimpses into his future with his career. Feeling God’s hand of protection and love on his life.

*Hearing my middle son say how much he enjoyed our family day together, after not wanting to participate. Hearing him proclaim the joy in the day. Amazing. Grace. A mother’s heart hears how very much we are wired to be in relationship.

* Four of the five riding back from Charleston and my daughter looking out at the marsh and marking the beauty. Then, passing the river and marking the beauty. Her words of longing to be on the beautiful water. Seeing her mark beauty.

* Hearing my son sing in church.

*watching the Olympics with my family

*Mother-daughter time of fellowship with friends laughing and savoring and spending hours, the four, for a celebration of birthdays. It is good. Friendship.

*Finally telling my husband how very badly my heart desires a literal white-picket fence, and having him sweetly receive, and try to see where and how he can provide my silly heart’s desire for one.

*A loving text message filled with gratitude from someone in my life, early this morning. A welcomed-Monday morning sight for these eyes.

*Seeing the joy in a woman’s heart upon receiving home-communion yesterday. Seeing  the power in breaking the communion wafer for someone for the first time. The beauty. The holy of the moment. Grateful for the opportunity to serve. Seeing her touched by the love of Jesus.

Writing in community today with Ann, who is helping me develop a heart of gratitude. And I am joining with Michelle at Graceful today.

A Letter To One, Strong And Brave

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

Dear Strong and Brave One:

I would like to think you know. But I can’t risk that you don’t.

I would like to believe I told you, with deep and strong words. From my lips straight to your heart.

I’d like to think I said boldly and clearly and immediately these words, the ones I say now.

I hope you know how strong and brave I think you are.

But in case I have not spoken clear words of love of your brave spirit, I tell you now.

Declare the words. Let them spill out from my heart onto the page.

The words dance off my fingertips with deep strong love.  So you will always know.

And so you will never doubt.

And in case you didn’t hear or if my words came out a whisper instead of a bold brave shout. I will say it here.

You are brave. And you are strong.

Because you forgave. And showed Dignity and Grace.

And you moved forward.

You forgave fully and wholly and kept on going. Kept on living.

Without fear. You chose amazingly, Grace.

And you chose strength and you chose bravery.

Because you modeled what forgiveness lives like, looks like, acts like.What love looks like too.

In a hard place of hurt and pain, you were brave and you were strong and you forgave.

And you didn’t have to go back again to the place of pain. But you did.

You showed strength, lived strength, are strength. And you didn’t hesitate to embrace the challenge. Of facing the memory or the linger of the pain.

Because you were bold and steadfast and rock-solid in your strength in your  spirit.

Your heart beats strong and your soul shouts gentle strength.

And if you ever doubt, know this.

You are loved. You are brave. And you are strong.

You make me smile.

And I am proud that you’re my son.

Love,

Momma

linking here at Thought Provoking Thursday

Learning Lessons from The Spring

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 14 Comments

Stone and rock call out to a community and we become pilgrims.

We go as individuals, trekking up or skipping down this mountain in the Blue Ridge chain.

It calls your name. Its strong cold marble is strength. It is continuity.

It knows stories. And It knows parts of mine.

On any given summer day, sweet devoted visitors come and sip the water trickling from an underground spring. They come with jugs. They come with pitchers to fill up their vessels with cool earthborn water.

It looks like a New Testament scene, or a snapshot from Africa or Haiti. People traveling with children, family, dogs to drink the water that is more than a drink for a parched mouth. It replenishes the soul with tradition.

If stone could talk, this spring named Wynne Lithia could tell stories of watching children grow.  For my family, those stories started when the spring was built in 1908.

People will tell you their story of the spring, I am sure, if you will just ask.

I met a woman who freely offered a slice of her life, tales which were tethered in memory back to the spring. It was our first meeting, yet the stories flowed off her tongue like the cool spring water from the old metal pipe.

“I brought all my boyfriends here.”

“My husband named our first dog after the spring, Wynne-Lithia, but we just call her Wynnie.”

Why do we long to travel to a place of deep history and story? Where generations have laughed and sipped and gathered water.Why do we slip out after a summer southern supper to make one last visit to sip water and stand by the trickle in the cool of the night? Alone. Or with a child.

What longing we must have for tradition to be pulled by a trickle of water, which for many means hiking up?

For me and generations of my family it’s a rich well of deep longing after place. We, like many in this small community, can go back over the sepia-toned photographs of our people–at Easter, on a summer day, or dressed in their Sunday best–and dream of their stories.

It began listening and witnessing family , children and women in long skirts dragging the mountain dirt path. They stare stone-faced in sepia  into the camera beside their stoic men whose cool stares  mimic the hard marble of the very spring they loved so.

And you can line up generations of photographs which add to the story of the spring. They add narrative from generations before my own, like a mosaic of mountain memory.

The  spring’s rich story is repeated over and over by families in this mountain  community and well beyond. The story of the spring and the need to return.

Water draws us. It always does.

We return home like Prodigals to be received, refreshed, restored — by the familiar, by comfort and consistency of the flow.

Sometimes it is a strong pulsating rush up and down from below the earth. Sometimes it is a trickle, slow and faint. No strenth in the anemic journey out from the ground well from which it flows. But it is there. It is present. It waits. And it woos.

If you are parched and if you are in need ,the water fills you and sends you on your journey.This place in the shade will always provide.

If you are weary, rest waits here.

And I draw lessons from this place, not only water. She teaches what it means to prepare the heart, to always be welcoming and available.

She models how to  sit quietly and expectantly, always prepared to welcome — always prepared to listen.

She shows what it looks like to offer a refuge to family, to a friend to a stranger. Her strength and calm show how a peaceful spirit can offer a balm to a restless soul, how we can offer a quiet place of comfort to a broken world.

She teaches how to give out of what we have, her flow may be strong, her trickle may be slight but she sits at her place on the mountain always prepared to offer what she has.

And she offers what she is and what she has both to strangers and to familiar souls with a generous spirit. The spring gives all that she has, freely and abundantly.

The spring that bears my name gives glimpses into what it looks like to be the hands and feet of Jesus, The Living Water. To  serve a parched and hurting world.  To  love the lonely, the hurting and those in need of an ear to listen to their story. To receive their story.

A trip to the spring reminds me to bend low in my day, to give freely of my time to others, to seek every opportunity  to show hospitality, to release the gifts that God has given me back to Him. She was built in 1908 and is still strong and steady.

I know only that I have today, to serve Him. And today is a good day to begin, anew.

“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Rivers of living water will brim and spill out of the depths of anyone who believes in me this way, just as the Scipture says.” John 7:37

“…but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” John 4:14

I am linking with these kind folks today. Jennifer and Duane.