Blog : Give Me Grace - Page 56 of 101

Spiritual Misfit :: A Memoir of Uneasy Faith {a book review and giveaway}

Posted on April 14, 2014April 16, 2014 by lisha epperson

I am the daughter of a Muslim and a Christian. With spiritual discord as a spring-board for my future faith…it’s no wonder, what we practiced…in reality…was nothing. We didn’t attend a mosque. We weren’t members of a church.

Once a year, on Easter Sunday, (when my father wasn’t around), my mother would get us ready for church. My sister and I, posed and polished in crispy new nylon – lace for days and the Sunday special “press and curl” hairdo – had no problem playing dress up. My brothers, on the other hand wore gaberdine suits and bow ties. Little mini-man monkey suits my mother managed to buy while we scrambled, playground style, under racks of clothing in stores like Mays or Alexander’s. Like it or not we all played dress up that day.

But that was it. And all I remember is how I couldn’t wait to take off my tights – let the pretty princess dress go…until next time. Next year – when we tried again. It never felt right. Religion, like our Big Love family dynamic seemed to be another area my family couldn’t figure out. We were spiritual misfits.

So Spiritual Misfit :: A Memoir of Uneasy Faith by Michelle DeRusha stirred and energized me. It was a perfect fit for a girl like me, who piecemealed her faith from patchwork remnants. Woven as conversations in my head, I snuggled into so many shared “aha’s”…the warmth of her blanket of words, wrapped around. Michelle reveals her story in the transparency of an intimate portrait shared with much grace and boatloads of humor.

I have limited knowledge of the Catholic faith but considering Michelle’s experience, through the lens of my own shaky journey to Christ…felt right. Like Michelle I imagined I could intellectualize my way through religion and had to admit the experience of motherhood challenged my patience and purity. Losing it with the box of Cheezits was something I could definitely relate to. Add a personal healing journey and the golden circle of our human connection is complete. Don’t we all feel a little uneasy about our faith?

Michelle says she wrote the book because it was the book she would have written for herself. This is the book she would have written as she grappled with God over the details – in spite of the details.

I’m glad she wrote it. Because it speaks to anyone who wrestles with God. Who questions His silence, who has serious doubts about this ring of fire called faith. Michelle’s words are a hand to hold when you acknowledge there’s no way of going around…only through.

This quote sums up the hopeful message of the book. “Sometimes it seems we need to press on: searching for and walking toward a destination we can’t see.” Michelle’s story compels you to “keep moving forward”.

I met Michelle at Allume last fall and consider it my great fortune to witness the birth of her book baby. It’s a beautiful struggle, a powerful wrestle, a question, a prayer …this book is real. Reading her journey will inspire you to embrace the beautiful complexity of your own.

Spiritual misfit : a memoir of uneasy faith releases today. It’s available for order on Amazon or…leave a comment for a chance to win!*

*winner announced on Monday, April 21st

Splendid Isolation

Posted on April 12, 2014April 13, 2014 by lisha epperson

Wings Photo :: Michelle James Dancer :: Francesca Harper — Splendid Isolation
Photo :: Michelle James
Dancer :: Francesca Harper

I am Gabriel,” the angel answered. “I stand in the presence of God, who sent me to speak to you and tell you this good news. But you have not believed my message, which will come true at the right time. Because you have not believed, you will be unable to speak; you will remain silent until the day my promise to you comes true.”- Luke 1:19 & 20

He will cover you with his wings.
Under the feathers of his wings you will find safety.
He is faithful. He will keep you safe like a shield or a tower. – Psalm 91:4

I didn’t talk about my only successful pregnancy. The stretch of my belly with impending motherhood was evidence of a mountain top miracle taking place – on the inside. But for me, there was no need for words. Maybe it was a holy ghost hush, like Zechariah’s. Because honestly, after 14 years – I still nursed a healthy portion of doubt where pregnancy was concerned. But I didn’t feel punished. I felt protected. God protected me from the words and opinions of others and kept my own negative talk in check. Friends may listen to and even encourage the spewing of doubt-filled words, but God? He’d shut me down when I came to the throne with anything less than a song. God held me spiritually captive, under the shelter of his wings – to teach me to trust. His provision, His process. The blessing of sacred silence a gift…a promise.

This is where my head is today. Quiet. Silence. Under His wing…in splendid isolation.

an offering to The Sunday Community and The Weekend Brew

Bloom :: a painting with words

Posted on April 11, 2014April 11, 2014 by lisha epperson

8033157163_7330230c9e_z — bloom
photo “afro flower” – Flickr CC by luciefly

My body didn’t flower. No store-bought roses…no field picked flowers..not even my favorite hothouse peonies could bring hope to the deadness of my steel-gray, and shut womb. And I felt it. From my core it traveled to every organ decreasing flow, dimming signs that proved life, making me, less than…vital. I tried to avoid a total shutdown by protecting my head, my heart. I didn’t bloom.

I gained weight. I looked the part. My former dancers body, no longer bound by years at the barre, filled out after a long denied freedom. Suddenly I had breasts and rounded hips and a belly that protruded with the nothingness of a dull pink half beating heart.

And I liked my new body. Thought it maternal….earthy. Imagined it preparing itself to receive life after so many years of working the rocky ground of a fibroid filled uterus. Lifting and turning its rusty-brown soil with surgeries and procedures to make all things new. To receive a planting. To harvest. To bloom.

I found my babies in soil…not my own…a different garden ..not my planting. In a golden field of God goodness he asked me to barter. Trade my dream for His. Springing forth flowers a blessed bouquet…a pop rock explosion and all manner of cosmic collisions leading me to the holy love of a child.

The petal soft lavender love of a child…blew me away.

Love blew me away.

Swept me away in a whirl wind of cocoa puff kisses and nighttime loving… Jesus loved me good and back to life.

He set my soul ablaze with Holy Spirit fire. Illuminating flaming orange embers that would not. go. out. My joy palpable. Unspeakable.

He gave…. 3 beautiful reasons to let go of my blues. He pruned and plucked dead roots, over turned the soil of a forgotten wasteland. Restored the broken, redeemed my hopeless. Fix me Jesus…Fixed. Me.

The barren dry landscape of a womb turned red. Pulsing. Bleeding the holy water of life and every day working. It’s systematic functioning never ceased. Because. The body believes. Because the body believes in life. My body, given time, would bloom.

Can you feel the clear colors? Grays, pinks, browns, greens, yellows, blues,…red? I felt each brush stroke, the mixing and choosing of colors hurt – a violent blending, a hopeful ending. Waiting for the paint to dry takes…time. His art come to life in mine.

“Every flower is a soul blossoming in nature.” – Gérard de Nerval

an offering to the communities at #concretewords and Five Minute Friday

Walking on Water :: For When You Want to Step Out

Posted on April 8, 2014April 13, 2014 by lisha epperson

We didn’t take the honeymoon I dreamed of until a year after our wedding. Our beach-side rendezvous in Miami was fabulous but I wanted to experience the Caribbean. The miles long strip of white sand beach in Negril, Jamaica – a spirit-filled lullaby for my city girl soul. I could feel my toes wiggle in the warm wet sand, the suns kiss on my copper-toned forehead. I was ready.

It was a good year but a long one. Our newly wedded bliss had not produced the baby we hoped for. I was beginning to feel the painful and confusing stress women suffer when the demand for a baby is met with negative pregnancy tests. Over and again. And over and again. So everything in my body said yes to planning our first vacation. I needed it.

I spent $120 on a charcoal gray Calvin Klein swimsuit and made my travel agent my new best friend.

I’m not a swimmer. I love water, total body immersion, floating ….the whole bit…but I can’t swim. I’m all about not wading any farther than my feet can safely, easily touch the ocean floor. Shoulder level…NO HIGHER. When the agent asked if I wanted to include snorkeling as part of our activity package, I should have said no. But I’d had this vision I couldn’t let go of. Snorkeling is what you do on the islands. Right? So I said yes. I wanted to do it.

We arrive safe if not rattled from the plane ride…even more so from the skills of the driver who sped us through dusty dirt roads no wider than a bicycle lane. It took 3 days to relax. Three days to come down from the fast pace of city life…to shed our New York state of mind. To ease our way into a “no problem” mentality.

And then it happened. Just in time for snorkeling.

He was the color of midnight, the momentary darkness of a lunar eclipse with knotty roots that sprung from his head like rays of sunshine. I trusted him immediately and it was a good thing. Because this stranger/ snorkel guide/ reggae loving beach comber would for a few minutes that day…be my Jesus.

Of the two of us, Big Daddy was the swimmer. Each day we’d spend hours in the water and he’d reassure me. Patiently guide my timid non-swimmer skills. But out in the little red canoe he froze. As we waded out into the expanse of the Atlantic ocean, my love apparently left any wish to snorkel on shore.

Disappointment, rather than fear was the emotion I wrestled with. And I think our guide saw it. Because he got out of the boat and gesturing with his hand said “If ya want ta see dem beauty ya got ta get outta da boat”. He asked me to come.

I looked back at my husband and he nodded his approval as I stepped out. The water was warm. Like some kind of pre-birthing exercise where you mentally go back to experience life in the womb. Just warm enough for complete immersion to feel like home. I reminded him of my poor swimming skills and he assured me he wouldn’t leave my side. Taking my hand he took me out.

I wanted to go.

And I experienced the surreal beauty of coral and colors that only exist underwater. It was breath-taking. Unforgettable.

Until suddenly I became aware of my surroundings. An awareness that challenged the miracle – pressed pause on my unforgettable. In a brief out-of-body experience…I saw myself in the depth of the ocean, holding the hand of a man I didn’t know. And fear grabbed me. Heightened senses alerted me to a bizarre but loud, ear muffling quiet. And time – stood still.

A flood of stress hormones raced in waves through my veins. Stiffening, freezing, forcing – my bodies primal response to panic. He must have felt the muscles in my hand tighten because he firmly squeezed the one he held. He got my attention and met my terror-filled gaze with peace. Calming instantly, thoughts of block buster movies involving sharks and the way, in anxiety, I became small…small and completely vulnerable. All because of doubt.

And today I think of Peter.

“And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?” Matthew 14:28-31.

By stepping out that day I saw…something I couldn’t have seen otherwise, something not everyone would see, and experienced the quiet power of a perspective shift. I pushed past doubt and took a risk. I acted in faith.

Today, I’m working on being present enough in life to take risks, to look for ways to be more like Jesus in my everyday. I don’t want to be afraid to get out of the boat – even when I’m the only one. I want to listen – hear and respond to His command to “Come”. Remember Him when I feel vulnerable and expect God guidance – wherever I am, even when I’m afraid… and especially when I doubt.

I want to be, for Him, a bold spiritual giant.

I want to step out of the boat – but only in His authority, in His name for…His glory.

this is how I preach to myself – maybe there’s a word in here for you too..

Today I’m sharing this “God good” story with Jennifer , Emily and Holley