Encouragement – A Letter In The Sky

mcvl hot and cold sky sunset

The heavens write letters of encouragement too. Just stand under it and read the bold strokes of orange, flame yellows against a canvas grey.

And a seeking soul finds solace under the canopy of God’s intimate signature of glory. Hope strokes, brush strokes, holy caligraphy for a sinking, seeking wounded weary woman. Man.

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Because the Great I Am is the great sky writer. Of grace notes in the sky. Set before the ones He loves. The downcast and the sin-weary. The misunderstood and missing out.

On the days of the mid-stride missteps in the sojourner’s journey, rest under cover  of the God sky. Take cover. Take encouragement.
There is more than a silver lining though there is that. There are glory streaks of brilliant screaming God colors.

Open the notes penned in the sky with pinks. Grey’s moment is waning and God’s people are the hope clingers under the envelope of blue. Looking up and looking long into his heavenly canvas gives life from the Creator of yours, of mine.

Desperate down-trodden sister sojourner, take the God letters to heart. Read them slow, these skyward treasures for the wet and weary. The radiant Son of Man is come and will come again.

Rest under the knowing.

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Walk into the waiting calm with strength, fresh strength from the mighty storm. Hold fast and long to torrential grace which washed you in the reigning down. Press into the new day, strong and strengthened one. Let storms renew. Shake off despair, let the rain wash you, refresh you, renew you, protected Child of God.

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Stand facing strong while you read the letters He writes for His still-earth-bound children. Face all with a knowing that He walks and shields. Loves and guides. Watches out over the weary.

Plant sure your feet while the winds whip, they will. He shoulders the blistering winds of worry and guards the tired soul. Seek Him as the sky turns to indigo, lavender and plum. He writes his love notes, pens them beautiful. Pens them with love. Pens them for you.

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Open the grace and rest under His Heavens, weary ones.

Look into His eyes and into His skies.

Take, receive, hold fast to the encouragement He gives.

It is grace. Take the manna from the skies, God-sent.

Take grace. And give thanks.

Until you rest your weary soul under the black of night with a head filled with prayer and a heart filled with praise.

And shout your loud amens.

Blue Moon HMM

 For you are not alone.

sunset over jeremy creek

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joining heather at the E of O for just write
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shrimp boat sunsets HM

Love, Grace – Letters From The Village

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After the rain came, flooding the all around, nearly enough wet to soak a soul and start the preparations for the ark. And after the rain came and all seemed grey and clouds remained and the wet and dank just hung around. And after the rain which spilled like tears and did not give way to a rainbow this day. Nor offer a break in the raging storm.

Grace appeared. She cracked the shell of cloud soaked soul. And slid her gentle fingers through the slits and slats. And Grace broke through and Love did too.

The greatest of these still remains. On the front side back side middle of a mess. Comes glorious Grace on the wings of Love. The greatest of these, the always remaining, always was guarding and watching the heart as it was breaking. Determined to show Mercy despite all  the storms.

I know as I know true Grace always stays. Tucked in the shadows or out in full view. Signing her love notes in front of our eyes. Gentle, bent low to offer her peace. Spreading her soothing balm on the weary. Glazing the gaping wounds with the mercy which heals.

And leaving her sacred and certain mark on a man.

She signs her signature, cursive calligraphy, dignified, true. And you know you’ve been touched by her peace that transcends. And you’re left with a chorus of bold amens.

And  certain are you beyond a shadow of doubt that Grace was here, that Grace did appear.

You rest in the knowing that Love will prevail and win all the wars, each battle, each fight. That Love blankets the weary, the broken and crushed. And Peace like a river washes over your soul.

And somewhere, yes somewhere she leaves her sweet signature. As simple as that. Look for her markings all over the place. As simple, as lovely as two little words. 

Don’t miss it she leaves her mark everywhere. Open your eyes and see it written so plain.

Love, Grace.

The greatest of these will always remain.

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Joining Sandra Heska King for her Still Saturdays

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What I Am Working On

When that word showed up on my doorstep that day, I embraced it and said it was mine. At least for the year.

And there are many different mediums and forms and formats. Suddenly being flat and one dimensional as a writer and as a struggling poet has reached a restless place.

I cried out to a fellow blogger and shared with her my heart’s desire to produce my first video blog post (VLOG) and she spoke back.

A community is a living breathing being. And we are in community together. She reached out to me and said “I can help you.”

At the simplest level of our humanness is that desire to be heard and cared for. For a cry to have a response.

And as an artist and writer we may need to have someone come alongside as a fellow writer and say, I can help you with your craft. To develop it in a way you are dreaming about. Hoping for.

I am flat, with an avatar and only written words to the readers of my blog. I have a longing to put my voice and my clumsy hand gestures and my southern accent to my poetry. I want to be a  “three D” me, if only once. Or maybe even more than once.

So this is what I am working on. A short little vlog post with my voice quivering and my poetry shaky wobbly on my lips. My accent revealing a bit of where I am from and my heart coming through in my word choices.

This is me now, in a flat screen back lit world. But this lover of words longs to give them a different vehicle. And send them off riding into the arms of her readers.

So I am off to work on my project and to pick a poem to read.

Have I told you lately how you bless me?

May you be encouraged today in all that you are lead to do, in work, in love, in relationships, and in service.

encouragement the girls

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(Photo courtesy of Laura Hutto, Shades of Gray Photography

When You Speak

Emily Wierenga asked me to join her Imperfect Prose team late in 2012. Honored, humbled I responded with an excited “yes”. Today is my first time leading off the Imperfect Prose community. I chose the prompt, encouragement. And then I struggled  to write. The fog settled in and the walls came up.

 But before you go there …

 So, I emailed Holly, a member of the Imperfect Prose team of writers and asked for prayer. Later I gave Emily glimpses into my wrestling spirit.

Immediately this word became real. It wore flesh and bones and had a heart.

The possibility held in the word encouragement became manifested through their actions, their very words.

It seemed I couldn’t draw from the well on my own. They undergirded and strengthened me.

But the process I went through of fog  and uncertainty were  necessary for working out true understanding.

There is a mystery in why. But on the other side it felt needed.  The struggle strengthened.

In the middle of my struggle, a bird flew into the glass door through which I see the world while I write.  Injured and broken, lying on my porch, I felt viscerally, the injury along with him.

He couldn’t fly. I couldn’t help.  He lay wounded. I ached.

There was so much imagery in this crippled bird for my soul to soak in. I left for a bit and when I returned he was gone. There were no signs of death, no stray feathers. My heart hopes there was recovery for him.

I choose to think he flew away.

And I think of  how encouragement is poured out. Where it starts and stops. What transpires in our struggle, in the times when we feel on our backs in defeat. And yet the Saints intercede and pray.

And speak words of encouragement into our souls.

And we too can fly again.

Please join me as we explore encouragement.  See you at Em’s.

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