Join me beginning October 1 here and over at The Nester’s for 31 Days of Noticing.
You Are Cordially Invited
Tag: The Nester
Noticing – A Journey Down The Road Of Fully Seeing
Noticing
Join me in October as I participate in the 31 Days Series withThe Nester at The Nester dot com. Last year at this time I was writing daily (well almost) on words. Were you here for the series, 31 Days, A Series of Words. I may have switched it up a bit and called it 31 Days of Wonderful Words. Either way it was challenging as a writer. It was my first year joining The Nester and other bloggers for this writing link up and challenge. And now I am designing and planning year TWO.
In the next few days you will hear a little more about what I have in mind. But I want to hear from YOU also. Leave a note in the comment section or send me a note on Facebook or Twitter if there is something you’d like to see me cover in a post during the 31 day journey.
But mostly I am just going with a spontaneous writing project, sharing as God reveals beauty and wonder to me. Well as spontaneous as one can be writing for thirty-one consecutive days.
I hope to mix it up quite a bit. And I promise you it is my desire to design a series which will never be boring.
You are invited to come along on this journey.
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The Final One – Grace, God,and What’s Next
Today is Day 31. It’s the end. It’s the beginning. The collective is here for the unwrapping.
Chapter One
Thank you for walking out October with me. Or just joining me today. Its Grace that you do.
The words. They have been stirred up and scrambled a bit. These words our tools.
And they have been fragile, tender, chosen with some care. Delicate the words. And each a shade of different.
As prayers, worshipers, delighters, praisers, writers, poets, bloggers, mommies.
It is our words. They are our tools.
To pray to our God, to worship our God, to raise our children, to sing our songs, and lift our voices.
They lift up, they give voice, and they give Hope.
When I began I started this series walking out a plan to write daily. You can reflect with me on my dailiness. here. (Or lack thereof, or good intent, or best laid plans).
What grace it is to write at all. If writing is your passion. What grace it is to write and meet a friend along the way.
What is this writing journey but a step and a step and another. To touch a soul with a phrase or a word. To write of life and have another lean in soft or lean in hard and say I understand or better, so much better that speaks to me and it is sweet. And it is tender.
Your eyes here with me are a gift. He brings them to the page.
Your heart beats, steps in stride with me, walking it out with me. Gift.
And all these words that have been and words to come, are reflecting, praising, processing, speaking, telling, of this life He gives. And to Him glory.
Of the Grace He gives, and its delightful amazing.
Of the Hope that’s in Him and its radiant.
May He be the audience of one for whom we write the words of our life.
To serve Him, praise Him, seek Him, and abide in Him.
Chapter Two
Once upon a time there was a blogger who found a hope-filled community of writing friends along her way.
And it is good. And it was very very good. And it is great and safe and a wonderful delightful place. And there were the words woven, words shared, words prayed, and words passed like the peace in love, back and forth, from and to. And a life was richer because of the words. Shared.
And stories were written, life was written, and bumps and bruises were written out, and fears released, and hope captured, and God praised.
And she thanked her God for the words , for breathing through them. For bridges built with them, to others and to her Gift Giver. For Joy found in them. Each one full and rich, like figs picked from the tree, placed on the lips to delight and consume.
And there was Grace, abundant and amazing. Grace when time was multiplied, time was hard, times were filled with questions and seeking.
And there was Grace, abundant in the extending of words, out. Releasing them. Freeing them. Sending them out, to go and tell.
Out into the bloggy world.
This very imperfect prosety. These very flawed proems.
The voice that trembles, seeks to be and form and speak.
He gives another day to pick it up and form the words. To build community and simply sing a song. To tell of Him and His amazing Grace.
Another Day. A gift.
Its Grace.
And I am writing of those moments, when Grace has appeared, wrapped in Love, dipped in Love, signed in the wet ink of Mercy.
The eyes of the heart record and tell. And thank. And the words keep marching out, prancing out, dancing out, this narrative, this story, of this one wonderful life.
The one He so graciously gives.
Chapter Three
What’s next?
Surprises. Trust. Expectancy. The beautiful. The wonder. The very very ordinary.
And the leaning in and bending the ear to Him, for words and inspiration.
Thank you for reading, journeying and always encouraging.
As a thank you I am giving away a piece of wonderful jewelry from Tracey Anderson Cooper, a friend. Just leave a comment to be entered. It can be a word. (These are examples of her line,.I will choose a piece in stock. It will be lovely, truly.)
{And when you leave a comment or a word, would you consider your own little dream of what would be next, here. Your own little wish of what you would want to read here. If you do. If you shall. An idea, a thought. Its Gift that you would.}
Are you journeying daily, here. Humbled if you would. Be here daily, just me and you and the words. Click here to receive daily emails and join this community of words.
Joining Duane, Emily, Ann, Mary Beth, and Jennifer.
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Hunkering Down, Holding On, and Wrapping Up
Today is Day 30. Thank you for being here for this series which ends tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a post of summary and surprise. Will you be here? There will be a bit of wrapping up. If you missed a post and would like to read the collective, it is here. Or click on the 31 Days Series 2012.
There is a bundling up on the horizon. These winds that blow, they howl.
There is a wind wailing, wind blustering.
And they gust and grasp, blistering with biting winds, swirling whirling, gusting blasts of artic, cold and cutting crisp.
The words huddle together and bundle up on the page. Shivering, shaking, trembling, quaking.
Cold, yet clustered in the sea of circumstance. The words still rattle and roll, knowing tomorrow comes, a conclusion, a closing an end in sight.
They perform a triage on the ones trumpeting the rallying cry, trumpeting their cause. And they choose for the day before the day of wrap up, circumstances and storms of life.
As the trees tremble, and as the world quivers and quakes, the storms of circumstance take their place in the series.
The natural life collides in the realm of the spiritual.
And the elements on the outside mirror the elements on the inside, of the life.
So we look to see how deep the roots have clung to the soil of Faith, the soul checks her face in the mirror and looks for signs of deep abiding.
Did we prepare for the storms of circumstance by resting in Him, abiding in Him, calling on Him, looking to Him?
All before the storms.
Did we fall on Him, lean on Him, learn of Him, read of Him, know of Him, cry out to Him, all before the storm?
And in the midst too. And right smack in the middle too. With a swirl and whirl and roar of the winds of challenge and change, are the roots clinging hard and fast in the soil. Is the soul rich in Him, in the nourishment and black rich soil of His hand. His offering.
Is the heart fixed on Praising in the midst and Praying in the middle, seeing in the circumstance the what is good and worthy of praise. That there was an element of saved from worse and saved from death.
That the giver of life gives sustenance in the storms, and the Light shines if even dim it shines, the Light of Grace. Mercy holds tight and fast to the soul feeling feint and weak.
Prayer whispered, prayer spoken, prayer humbled, quivering shaking from the lips of the wind blown traveller, they are the life-line, they tie the soul in the worst of it, the all of it. It is the language of the broken. It is the language of the healed.
Do the swells of the seas and bitter of the cold sting to a blistering or are we cupped in the hand and safe in the place of sheltering in the midst, in the middle, right in it?
Hunkering down and holding on, tethering to shore and tethering to a body, strong and bold holds us upright. Hunkering down in the warmth of the Christ-body, holding on to the Word and to the very hand of God, reaching down in the middle in the midst.
Wrapping up in Hope and Trust, bundling the soul in the expectancy of the calm after and the calming of His very breath and presence in the midst.
Don’t miss the very strengthening of the rocking soul in the seas of circumstance rolling in and down and on.
Don’t miss the strengthening of those who made it through and make it through and tell of stronger vessels for bracing and staying safe in all the turmoil, twisting and turning and spinning a soul.
There is safety in the harbor of Trust and Obey and it’s not a pollyanna children’s song. And its not a sugary simple served up platitude.
It is the very essence of the traveller in the storm. To huddle in the flock for warmth and safety, to stay where the Shepherd says to stay, to hear and follow the voice that guides and protects.
It is the body, when huddled and cradled and wrapped in Love and Encouragement that preserves its warmth and keeps the vital heat captured, fueling the life, fueling the heart and parts that beat and pulse, winds ahowling, winds awhipping all around.
And bending low while bowing the knee, the head to Him, calms her heart, calms her spirit in the whirling wailing blustering storm.
Was a heart prepared, is a heart preparing, does a heart prepare for all there is to come?
Nestled soundly in the arms, the warm embrace, of the Calmer of The Storms. The Lover of My Soul.
Oh to know the warmth in all He is and all He gives in the circumstances of this life.
The buds are tight, holding expectancy and Hope.
And the blooms will burst on the limbs of tomorrow, in spite of the raging storms.
Hold on weary traveller.
Be strong pilgrim friend, look Heavenward trembling flock in the windswept tundras of this life.
The blooms are ripe and ready. The melting snow reveals the bloom.
The Christ is in this storm.
elizabeth w. marshall 