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Give Me Grace : Open {for The Church Door Series}

Feb 21, 2015 32 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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The Episcopal Church of the Heavenly Rest on 5th Avenue at 90th Street NYC

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Open

She walked in wearing red
Tie died in blood, a crimson cloak hung from her shoulders
Hands wrung worn from prayer covered her mouth
Years of broken dreams and too many maybes had done a number on her
She crept forward scraping the almost empty barrel of belief

Her silhouette bled into a carpet running the length of the aisle
A Red Sea parting…dividing rows of cramped cherry stained pews.
I was there.  It was hard to tell where she ended. Where it began.
Her movement, one with the hushed rhythms of silence in a sanctuary
She seemed to float. Suspended. An apparition.

Her desperation filled the room with longing.
I wanted, we all wanted to see her made new.
Was it shawl or shield, camouflage or armor
I couldn’t tell. It both freed and bound.
Disillusionment will do that.

The frayed stitches of a scarlet letter emblazoned at her breast clung to her like a broken promise.
It hurt.

She’d been named.
Labeled by her pain. Marked . A curse
Branded…not blessed.

It smothered her faith, choked her spirit… until she had nothing to say.

Except this…

Open me, open me that I might be emptied.
Let me be the offering.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Posted in christianity, faith, Give Me Grace, life - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, open, The Church Door Series

Conversations at Grace Table : on Quiet Hospitality

Feb 18, 2015 Leave a Comment ~ Written by lisha epperson
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photo: Grace Table

“But oh! GOD is in his holy Temple! Quiet everyone—a holy silence. Listen!” ‭Habakkuk‬ ‭2‬:‭20‬ MSG

I’m at home with the littlest lovelies. Chailah has a cold and the deal-breaking fever that kept us from attending co-op. It’s cold and quiet and tiny flurries whip through the sky foreshadowing the storm to come. It is well with me. An impending storm and the holy hush that silences a city is perfect for quiet hospitality…indeed the simple celebration of being at home. In this season, my home is the temple. I welcome the silence. It’s sacred.

I’ll make soup. Bake bread. Along with a fair measure of Motrin shots I’ll hug and kiss the cooties away. I’ll have coffee ready when my husband comes home and listen to my teenaged son talk about attending high school next year. I’ll draw angry bird figures with Ade and teach him to play Go Fish. I’ll let Ila stay up late tonight. Maybe over tea we’ll discuss life – woman to woman.

But if someone stopped by today, unannounced, I’m not sure I’d answer the door. I shouldn’t admit that right? For more reasons than I can name here, my family needs all the hospitality I can offer. What we need is quiet. I need to listen for the yes, and for the no. The “as for me and my house WE”. I need to hear God – His holy affirmation of a hospitality that is quiet.

Have a seat with me at Grace Table. I want to tell you more. 

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Posted in christianity, faith, Guest Post, life, parenting, relationships - Tagged God, Grace Table, hospitality, quiet

Give Me Grace : A Little Bit of Love

Feb 14, 2015 41 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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“Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

– from sonnet 116 William Shakespeare

I yelled these words to my husband across a glacier in Iceland, whispered them in the rain forest in El Yunce and cried over them while watching a doomed love grow between Marianne and the dashing but dumb Willoughby in a scene from the movie Sense and Sensibility.

I’ve tried to live these words in our relationship. Because you don’t make it through the covenant of marriage without a little rattling. Love, commitment, the promise is made for shaking. Inherent in love is the promise of testing and trials.

I focused on being the ever-fixed mark. I forgot the mark lies at the center, the very bullseye of my heart. I forgot I’d get tired of being a target. Holding it down in love is hard.

Today is as good as any to check in with my heart. I’m paying attention to slight differences, however small. How marriage changes, how I am changed through choosing to go through life one part of a whole. If I’m smart I’ll choose to see the beauty in the many shades of my marriage. I’ll steel myself with the truth of our many shades of gray. It’s the journey through the spectrum that makes us real. I see consistency in complexity. And I see God.

Appreciating the difference is intentional. It’s the challenge and choice to play with texture and tone while staying in the same box. To walk through each shade as it were, with passion and hope. And grace. Gray is the perfect choice for our marriage. It’s solid but ever-changing.  The subtle degrees of difference detected in hue from day-to-day, week to week…from year to year –  are a gift.

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I got a manicure for my birthday and almost cried. The acknowledgement of self care…simply catching myself in the middle of it, almost made me cry. My littles love me up all day long but this was different. The technician cradled my hand and I melted in the simple grace of being held. I need more of that. My marriage needs more of that.

We push through weeks of skating and science and architecture and music concerts. Somewhere in the middle of all that are meals to cook, children to bathe, hugs to give. We’re knee-deep in this parenting thing and we don’t always make time for self-care. Days go by before we remember we haven’t touched.

We crawled into bed the other night with no children between us…only the 50 shades of gray that come with any marriage that lasts almost 20 years. There’s pewter, blue, ash, silver, slate, battleship gray and sometimes charcoal…almost black. Sometimes I find myself trailing off into the abyss of a blinding black hole. Sometimes love is hard. I don’t know if I want to get lost in it or face the fight to get out. This year love isn’t shiny or smooth. But it’s solid. I’m grateful for that.

I curled into his arms and breathed deep the smell of home. I held him and let myself…be held. A little bit more and a little bit more. Longer. The longer we’re together the more aware I am of loves complexity. Love takes time and I’m still getting to know the man I gave my heart among a field of flowers on a sunny day in June. I’m slowly flowering again to his embrace. Our love is like the night sky. The darkness before midnight and the morning after. Our love is a garden…growing. We’ll need at least another twenty years to harvest all Gods promised.

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all images flickr cc : Brenda Clarke

This love thing of ours was never black and white. It was always shades of gray. I knew that walking down the aisle holding a bouquet of wilting peonies. I knew it.

So today I remember…the lavender gray of twilight and the hope I found in a few still thriving branches on the Christmas tree we threw out last week. And there you have it – our love is a surprise.

I want to notice the nuanced, shaded, degrees of change in our love. The barely perceptible but beautiful changes. It’s something I can trust. May each shade be a layer, another layer of love.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace
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Posted in christianity, faith, life, relationships - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, 50 shades of gray, God, grace, gray, hope, love, marriage, sonnet 116, William Shakespeare

Give Me Grace : Tuning in, Taking Notice

Feb 07, 2015 31 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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For, behold, I am for you, and I will turn to you, and you will be cultivated and sown. Ezekiel 36:9

We made it to the bus-stop just in time to catch the M3. I shuttled the kids ahead of me as I searched in the black hole of my purse for change. They scrambled for seats as the bus made its way down 5th Avenue. Slowly. I always forget how long it takes to get anywhere on the bus at midday.

The ride gave me time to meditate on my one word for the year – slow. I’d looked up to track our progress when I noticed we’d stopped in front of Conservatory Gardens, just 2 blocks from where we got on. It took 15 minutes to travel 2 city blocks. We weren’t moving.

I love this garden. It’s the home of our family tree. Where I remember Nicole – where God speaks to me on a bench. In this garden, I’m healed. But I haven’t been in a while. The Lovelies and I have weathered the winter indoors. Frigid temperatures and an unwelcome stomach virus kept us cabin bound for weeks.

Sometimes God stills us to get our attention, so I recognized the nudge. God wasn’t interested in my plans to arrive at the theater on time. He had something to say. He wanted me to look up. To notice.

Just beyond the branch covered pergola I saw a bulldozer and tractor. Piles of upturned soil and big chunks of ice pushed aside and tiny people moving in the distance. Major construction was taking place in my garden and I hadn’t noticed.

And this was the message. “I’m working. Let me do it. Let me change you. Yield to my ability. Improvement is necessary. I want to make you better. Surrender to rehabilitation, renovation. restoration. Trust me.”

Take notice – He’s turning the soil, renewing the field of your spirit…planting new seeds. All the time.

I saw it as a metaphor for life…and a promise. A promise I need to hear. Because I sometimes doubt He’ll do all He says He can do. I wonder about the reality of being broken beyond repair. I doubt the possibility of a do over. And even though He hand delivered a message to me in a reminder that’s now 4 years old, I worry that perhaps it’s too late. I worry I won’t be able to begin again. I don’t see the work He’s doing. Sometimes I don’t.

That day I saw past the breakdown to the build up. The deconstruction before reconstruction. I saw past the work of renovation to the work of redemption. And I saw the strength of my limbs in the branches of barren trees. Holding the weight and worth of a world longing for spring. I’m fragile and vulnerable. But I’m here and I can do it. The birds trust me. I haven’t cracked or broken. And somehow I keep producing. I twist and bend and because of Him I do not break.

I am the bud that blossoms after the soils been turned. I am the tree that rises after years of rest.

He’s cultivating. Pruning. Stripping. Tilling and turning the field of my life. I have to let Him do it.

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I looked up long enough that day to notice this. A cardinal. Trusting. Resting. And the bud …believing. I noticed.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Posted in christianity, faith, Give Me Grace, life - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, ezekiel 36:9, garden, God, notice, noticing, slow

Give Me Grace : The Power of A Single Story…Yours

Jan 31, 2015 34 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all the day, for their number is past my knowledge. With the mighty deeds of the Lord God I will come; I will remind them of your righteousness, yours alone. O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come. – Psalm 71:15-18

From the back of the room I saw tears forming in the corner of her eyes. She spoke with a lump in her throat and I could feel the soft tremble of emotion as she told her story…again. Elise Daly Parker is a community building powerhouse and her story is the goose bump kind. She tells it in a river of words that take you on a god-spotting journey. From faith-shattering to awe-inspiring you straddle the crest of the wave knowing its equal parts awful and lovely, broken and true. Still, God leaves room for calm, space to breathe…in her storm. Elise tells it with heart.

I woke up early this morning to take a van from 42nd St in New York to attend the Circles of Faith Women of Influence Breakfast. I’d looked forward to it for months. A chance to connect with other bloggers and writers on the east coast was one thing I wouldn’t miss. I made it my business to be there. An opportunity to hang out with Chelle Wilson would have been reason enough to attend but there was so much more. I met the only East coast representative from Noonday and enjoyed divine appointments with women whose lives mirrored my own. The staff at Circles of Faith did a wonderful job in assembling such a diverse group. And I brought a friend, Tanya Jones, my long-time sister in ministry sat right next to me.

Before Elise finished telling her story the room erupted in jubilant praise. Standing to our feet we couldn’t help cheering. I’m sure it happens every time she tells her story – and that’s just the way God wants it. Telling our stories is potent powerful medicine. It’s a healing inoculation against doubt – a booster shot for faith. We all enjoyed the after glow of the presence of a God who lives in the story. Each word a holy helping of grace – an in the moment measure of encouragement.

I think we all got saved again hearing her story. In the telling, she did too. It’s the God good kind of story that makes you believe…because He showed himself mighty, He redeemed every shattered thing and she…lived to tell.

Don’t doubt the power of telling your story again and again and again. I watched it heal her and help us.  Doing the happy dance at the end of a battle doesn’t mean every wound has completely healed. Let’s face it, every story is a journey, a process. The fullness of redemption takes time. In the interim God makes magic with the words. The brilliance of the masterpiece is in the weaving of each sacred chapter. It all starts with words.

We live in a fast paced world that demands something new every day. It isn’t easy to keep up. We respond to the onslaught of new information by archiving our stories. Our testimonies get shelved. A good flashback reminds us of His righteousness…His mighty deeds. God works in the wonder of a new day, I’m sure of it, but there’s no expiration on the glory of a story. So begin at the beginning. I’m listening.

Celebrate the power of a single story. Tell your story again. 
Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

♥ ~ read more ~

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Posted in blogging, christianity, faith, Give Me Grace, life - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, Chelle Wilson, Circles of Faith, Elise Daly Parker, encouragement, friend, God, story, Tanya Jones, the power of a single story, women, Words

Give Me Grace : En Route

Jan 24, 2015 30 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

 

en route

flickr cc : jen’s art and soul

Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. – John 14:6

En Route

She stops to rest near a sun-drenched log
A field of birch trees surround her…encircling her in prayer
Tilting her head, she leans long into the breadth of their sweet embrace
It’s quiet and she is still

She knows the call of the hawk,
field mice scampering across a forest floor
Shhh…
She’s racing against the darkness before midnight
She is listening

She’s stronger than she looks
The last piece of ice in the center of a frozen pond
Everything around her
Melting
She is waiting

She is water
Droplets and mist…a frost you can feel
She is a cloud on a clear day…fading
She is changing

She’s the last leaved tree
An honorary evergreen
Bound by the forever of tangled roots
She’s adapted

She’s peeling bark and pine needles
Fallen.
The dust of the earth
Recycled. Redeemed. Reborn.

Upcycled at the base of a rock
See her broken but found
A blood stained sign marks the way
And she knows the way to go

She’s en route

She believes in sunlight
A glint of gold anointing a tree
A healing saber
guiding, piloting
For breakthrough – Walk. This. Way.

She honors the bud waking up to flower
Bows down to the holy wonder of wildfire
There’s peace in the valley…space and shadow and light in her heart

His light.

She’s searching for that thing you can’t see
The One, The Way
The baptism of a burning bush
Follow her gaze to the horizon and LOOK

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Posted in christianity, faith, Give Me Grace, life - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, en route, John 14:6, the one, the way

The Christians Secret of a Happy Life : Reflections on Service {ch.15}

Jan 23, 2015 Leave a Comment ~ Written by lisha epperson

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Gods way of working, therefore, is to get possession of the inside of a man, to take the control and management of his will, and to work it for him. If you are in bondage in the manner of service, you need to put your will completely into the hands of your Lord, surrendering to Him the entire control of it. – Hannah W. Smith The Christians Secret of a Happy Life

The first ministry I belonged to began as a Bible study in Manhattan’s theater district. We were a congregation of artists — models, painters, singers, musician, and actors. And we loved Jesus. We wanted to serve the kingdom with our gifts, and did so . . . willingly. But that didn’t mean we wouldn’t have to battle the parts of our personalities that wanted to be seen . . . to perform.

Service is complicated. Artists wrestle with reconciling obligation and opportunity. On the surface it’s simple — share what you love with people you love. But what of motivation? It’s easy to confuse a desire to “shine for Jesus” with the drive to perform. Performances are riddled with doubt and carry with them an expectation for results. And that’s not ministry, let alone authentic service.

I resonated most with this passage from the classic book, The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life, by Hannah Whitall Smith:

You love your work in the abstract, but in the doing of it you find so many cares and responsibilities connected with it and feel so many misgivings and doubts as to your own capacity or ability that it becomes a heavy burden,and you go to it bowed down before the labor has even begun. Then also you are continually distressing yourself about the results of your work. (p. 138)

I had to get my heart right. God can make something from the nothing of any “performance.” If the offering is pure, God can use it for ministry. Doing what we love can be a useful service — but first we must surrender.

I was a passionate and devoted dancer but could I not make it about me? Could I minister?

I’m joining friends at Deeper Waters for reflections on “service” from chapter 15 of The Christians Secret to a Happy Life.  Read the rest here.

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Posted in christianity, faith, Guest Post, life - Tagged artists, gifts, God, Hannah W. Smith, service, surrender, The Christians Secret of a Happy Life

Give Me Grace : Wanderings of a Daughter

Jan 17, 2015 24 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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May our sons in their youth be like plants full grown, our daughters like corner pillars cut for the structure of a palace; – Psalm 144:12

Trailing skirts, braided hair, turrets and a tower. I never walk past the towered church on 86th St and West End Avenue in New York City without imagining myself in a period piece. Say what you will but my heart belongs to the old world. I have an affinity for the architecture and fashion, the speech patterns and peculiar graces of a society set on the semblance of propriety. Even knowing the lack of adequate plumbing doesn’t deter my kindred connection to anything Romanesque, Gothic or Renaissance inspired.

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I spent Friday morning sitting in a pew at The Church of St. Paul and St. Andrew. Churches in the city have been a great friend to the homeschooling community. On Friday mornings my tween and teen explore algebra with a small group of children on the third floor of this beautiful church. I have the privilege of spending a few hours bathing in the perfection of midday light flooding the sanctuary.

It’s quiet and spacious. And holy. That day I sat and cried while reading a gorgeous piece of writing by Holly Smothers Grantham. She lost her mother last year and her struggle and longing, her wrestling to make peace with the now of this transition as a daughter has been hard and beautiful…all at the same time. I’ve learned so much from it. Her struggle makes me think of my own.

“But, even at her weakest, my mom never stopped throwing open wide the doors of her heart. Whenever I crouched at her bedside to feel the heat rising from her brow or curled up under the covers and clasped her hands in mine, I was received into her deepest places. Not even disease could choke out love born in a broken body. Those fissures of cell and marrow became offerings of humility and grace and I always wept in their holy presence.”

Her words washed over me. Warmed and healed me. They did their magic, filling the wordless chamber of my heart – the silent space where I wrestle with being a daughter of an aging mother…the daughter I was, the daughter I am now. My mother is changing, forgetting. The mother I remember. The one who mothered me. I need her but she needs me more and that shift is hard.

I’m living in the tight space between two worlds. In one world I’m corn-rowed and carefree, in the other I’m doing the braiding. I’m washing hair and paying bills, wiping noses and folding laundry. I’m waking up for coffee after too little sleep. I’m sending out and tucking in. I’m planning and doing… all the things she did for me. And now I wonder and worry about her… if she’s eating well… if she went out today. If she’s afraid.

I’m thinking about legacy and living well. I want to live the example my mother set for me. I want to love and hold her up during this transition. I want to live every thing she taught. How she held our hearts by melding the old and new…her life lessons and dreams, her individual creativity and inspiration to build a family…a home, a tower of love for her children…even through change.

I am her daughter.

I wander through the complex floor plan of our relationship. I’m finding my way in the spaces between rooms my mother designed.  Everything is familiar and foreign – because we’re different. Both of us. Still, this season finds me meandering through the palace she built.

But our  foundation is laid solid with grace. No matter how complex I find areas of affinity, threads linking, connecting me to the home she built.  I’m searching but sure. I know why I’m here.

I’m here to maintain the structure of her palace. As my daughters will do in mine.

Let your handmaiden find grace in your sight…#GiveMeGrace

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Posted in christianity, faith, Give Me Grace, life, motherhood, relationships - Tagged #GiveMeGrace, church, daughter, grace, mother, psalm 144:12

5 Minutes for Faith : Parenting Slow {a one word remix}

Jan 16, 2015 Leave a Comment ~ Written by lisha epperson

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Plenty of people miss their share of happiness, not because they never found it, but because they didn’t stop to enjoy it. – William Feather

Just a few weeks into my One Word 365 and I’m certain I made the right choice. I feel it seeping into my heart and mind and almost constantly, new revelation on the word slow becomes part of me. This years word complements last years so well. It allows me to continue walking on the path God placed me on last year – minus the self-inflicted stress . Discipline is the result of a slow, methodical, thoughtful life path. Without the slow my discipline is easily warped – a chaotic mix of effort and plans gone wrong. And fatigue. Did I mention the fatigue?

She pressed the paper onto my lap. Six years old and full of enthusiasm for her craft, she tried to get my attention. She wanted me to see. There’s nothing like the “let me show you” attitude of a girl filled with determination. Her world is the right now impulsive energy behind her request. She won’t take no.

Where did this come from? Chailah’s measured and intentional. Her way is slow, meditative and deliberate. She naturally takes her time. She’s shy… the little sister trying to find her way out of a shell. When she wants your attention she’s thought about it. She’s already spent time processing her goal. That’s when her inner firebird feels free to fly.

That night I’d missed her process. I was too busy. By the time I got it her paper was wrinkled…her eyes told me what I wouldn’t see.

It was late and I’d already endured a bout of casual bickering between my older two during kitchen cleanup.  Bespectacled, (because that’s how we mid-lifers roll) and hunkered down deep in my favorite spot on the couch, I dived into my iPad to get a little writing done. I didn’t want to be interrupted. I’m sure my body language screamed “do not enter” but she pushed past the physical and literal road blocks. She wanted to show me something.

I’m sharing a little of my parenting journey with friends at 5 Minutes for Faith. Read the rest here.

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Posted in christianity, faith, life, motherhood, relationships - Tagged discipline, God, one word, parenting, see, slow, word

I Have Decided To Stick With Love : Happy Birthday Martin Luther King Jr.

Jan 15, 2015 3 Comments ~ Written by lisha epperson

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I have decided to stick to love…Hate is too great a burden to bear. - Martin Luther King Jr.

I’ve reached for and read this quote countless times – more times than I would have imagined in a single year. It’s been biblical manna, a holy morsel to chew on when the current political or social climate’s left me cold – or hungry.  I’m looking for love in scant crops…for beautiful flowers in a barren harvest. Love not hate…love. I have to remember. 2014 was the year of remembering love.

Martin Luther King Jr. would have turned 86 years old today. I wonder what he might think of the world he left behind….his legacy, the dreams he held for a world where you and I, God’s people might squeeze out a hallelujah chorus of “it is well”. Even if we don’t all agree. Might He, be our peace?  Race is our country’s thorn in the flesh. The thing we wrestle with  – still. Would he sometimes feel discouraged…like me.

Because the girls are still gone and thousands lie dead in the streets with little international outcry over what some have called the deadliest massacre in Nigerian history. In Colorado an NAACP chapter was bombed. And we can’t breathe, and there’s still blood on the streets of Ferguson and a little boy, being a boy, was murdered in cold blood forcing us to cry out again and again Black. Lives. Matter. And then 2 innocent police officers paid the ultimate price….silencing all sides in what sometimes feels like a modern-day civil war. It seems we’re living the ugly remnants of a world divided….still.

But hate is too great a burden to bear.

So  love…yes love

Selma, the movie, is in theaters now and middle schoolers around the country can attend a screening free of charge. This segment of the school age population grew up with an African-American president. They’re largely disconnected to the Civil Rights movement and its impact on American history. Martin Luther Kings’ historic effort in securing voting rights for African – Americans is being spread as a message of hope and timely reminder to #staywoke amid fresh reasons to peacefully protest.

Lupita Nyong’o graced People magazines cover as the most beautiful person in the world and gave a gorgeous speech about owning your beauty after her academy award win earlier this year. She spoke for “all the girls who would see her … and feel a little more seen.” I have decided to stick with love.

And Londrell Hall and Ray Mills ran from Atlanta to Ferguson in response to the shooting death of Michael Brown, spurring the movement #runforjustice…I have decided to stick with love

And Malala Yousafzai donated her Nobel Peace prize money to rebuild a school in Gaza…I have decided to stick with love.

And most recently I’ve watched online, the valiant, breathtaking living of Kara Tippetts. Absolutely… I have decided to stick with love.

There is so much more to love. On the anniversary of his birth, rather than laser in on the infinite evil and unexplainable wrong doings let’s hone in on undeserved grace, the mysterious, magical presence of hope and love – which conquers all. Love which cannot be explained or expressed without acknowledgement of the divine…let’s stick with love.

Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. – 1 Corinthians 13:7

Joining the Thursday link-ups of  Lyli  and Crystal 

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Posted in christianity, faith, life, relationships - Tagged God, happy birthday, love, martin luther king jr., selma
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lisha epperson

lisha epperson

recipient of grace, lover of family, woman of God. Christian, homeschooling mama of 5, wife of 1. believer in miracles and the promise of redemption. passionate about parenting, adoption, women, nutrition, dance, fashion. a lover of words.....

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