Interview on Living Joyfully Free Radio

Bright flowers and a refreshing readAuthor and Speaker Lisa Buffaloe invited me to sit and visit about this journey of faith we’re living. God stirred up great advice for walking into freedom with Him and I can’t wait to share it!

Listen to the interview on Living Joyfully Free Radio any time day or night.

You’ll learn how to move into greater freedom in many areas of your walk with God.

A few topics:

~ How to live God’s story NOW
~ Finding good traveling companions along the way
~ How our story is a little like a ride with Mr. Magoo (really?)
~ Swan-diving off I-beams and other feats of faith
~ How to get the most out of adversity
~ Finding strength in the valley of weeping.
~ Stones of Remembrance and other sources of strength
~ Gaining power to do the impossible

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Short on time right now?

View my latest YouTube Video for a taste of the interview with Lisa—
I’m sharing about finding freedom through creating a FAITH journal!

Click here to watch Faith Journal video

Click on icon to watch video

Cool links from the video:

Read my friend Vickie’s great post about receiving God’s Word in a way that changes everything.
Just click on the Walk Agape Icon below!   Walk Agape is on Twitter: @WalkAgape
Walk Agape Icon

Also here’s the link to Vi Bella Jewelry:
A beautiful story of women helping women.

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A very special thanks to my dear sister in Christ, Jennifer Dukes Lee,
for introducing me to Lisa Buffaloe.
You can find Jennifer and a lot of her friends over at
#Tell His Story: A Community of Story Tellers

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Five Minute Friday: Comfort

On Friday’s Lisa-Jo from the blog The Gypsy Mama gathers a group of bloggers to sing our hearts out together for 5 minutes.  It’s not really la-la-la-laaa! singing, but we log into our blogs and write for 5-minutes on whatever one word stirs in us.  This week Lisa-Jo chose: COMFORT

By still waters

We are officially old. My husband asked me if I wanted to go for a “drive” last weekend. I smiled, thinking of Hank and Edna, our octogenerian friends—now gone for a drive beyond this world.

“We are officially old. We’re going for a drive. Not anywhere specific—just a drive,” I teased.

“Well at least we aren’t going to watch road construction,” he quipped back.  I smiled. Hank had told us of the fascinating outing. Driving with Edna—who never got to drive after she fell asleep at the wheel and about robbed them of a few years-worth of drives—out to the site of the new four-lane expressway. There they sat side-by-side. Two and a half feet between aging bodies that remained curious and fascinated with the small things that were big things. But they were one.

We drove around the lake where honey runs. It was overcast and cool, not hiking weather, just two and a half feet from each other. We shared curiosity and fascination with the small changes that have come with a season changing, the beauty of how dark the bark on the tall pine looked from all the rain. The airy, fine needles hovering overhead. What a beautiful grove of pine. A cathedral, taking my breath away.

“Look how dark the trunks look against the green, honey.”  A stitch is pulled through the fabric of our love. One more memory to continue the two-become-oneness we’ve been given.

We wind round and down through the trees, tracing the contours of the land within us. We topped the hill and see two young guys sharing a cigarette. Hmmm, I think.

“Long-boarders,” my guy says.

my favorite manI smile. The professor. The grown man, the one who holds me and comforts me when things seem so big and overwhelming, or get going too fast for this woman to line it all up into neat little rows. This man is still boy. One who tucked a skateboard under his arm and slammed the door behind him to roll around town.

“How do you tell the difference?” I asked about the skateboards.

We turned onto the road to one of the rustic campgrounds. That’s what fascinates my man, the rustic, the remote—he’s a mountain man at heart. We cruise down the road and he remarks about what’s disappeared since they paved this new fancy road through here.

We turn around and cruise back past the skateboarders who’ve snuffed the cigarette out on the pavement and have risen to their  feet.

“Are they really going to skate down these hills? They’re crazy, I’d be sliding across the asphalt out here.”

We cruise down the big hill and take a place in the small five-space parking lot at the bottom where the road curves sharply and heads back up a hill and around a corner, disappearing into the woods.

We hear a wild yell, but miss the streak racing past us. We crane our necks but catch only a glimpse of the first skate boarder as he disappears round the corner at the top of the next hill. This time we’re ready. We fix our eyes on the top of the hill ready for the second guy to come screaming down the hill. He rockets by and we both feel that feeling of going fast, of utter fear and unforgettable exhilaration. Together.

And then he puts the truck in reverse and we climb the hill in the wake of the screaming, speeding, are-they-crazy-or-what skateboarders.

“At least they were wearing helmets,” he says.

We are old. We are sewn together with a million stitches of the ordinary.

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Five Minute FridayNo fixing typos.
No correcting grammar.
Just raw, real and writing about: COMFORT.

Thanks Lisa-Jo!
Check out a few of the over 300 bloggers
linking up over at 5-Minute Friday.

Sing Glory Down Like Rain

It’s been a rainy spring.
The warm, sunny days last month could be counted on one hand. *sigh*
So if you’re solar-powered like me, a stretch of overcast days can sure make your focus a little cloudy, too.

I’m thankful that God birthed songwriters and gave them a way with words;
Songs lift me up like nothing else.

My playlist lately has included JJ Heller’s recent release: Loved.
She’s reminding me of good things—God things.

Her song “I Believe” has a gentleness to it—like rain sprinkling soft on my soul.

“When I’m old I’ll talk about the things that You have done—
I believe.

Brokenness made beautiful, the wars that You have won,
And the storms You calmed in me

The truest things I know are those I cannot see.
From my birth to my dying day—I believe.”

Clouds hang low as far as I can see. Tomorrow’s forecast is optimistic: Partly Cloudy. I’m more than ready to welcome the sun. But you know, even if it is overcast tomorrow, the truth is—the sun’s still there.

This line from “I Believe” has come back to me a whole lot lately:

“The truest things I know, are those I cannot see.”

When tragedy plows through all that seems good and right in your world. When only ten minutes—or ten steps—lie between the laughter of life’s bright-eyed celebrations and the no-words-will-do reality of loss and pain and things we cannot fix.

But would if we could.

We’re barely able to wrap our minds around the hard stuff, and so the best we can do right now is to wrap our arms around the hurting ones and pray. To stay close for a while. Cry. And pray some more.

And ten steps later, scoop that new baby into your arms and look with wonder at those tiny fingers and little nose—and love on the new mom who’s taking her first unsure steps in loving tired. Stand up and cheer on those who have stumbled, but have gotten back up. Get over-the-top excited with those who are running well.

In this world where suffering and joy are next door neighbors, won’t someone please sing out a bit of Glory.

Make it a song that comes out real quiet and gentle,
like rain on tender grass,
like gentle showers on young plants.

So hope grows.

How glorious is our God!

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When you come through those gloomy days don’t the sunny ones feel like new life.
And that, my dear, is just a sip of what’s to come.

Until then, let the rain remind us to sing out a song of praise—
or have the presence of mind to put Truth-singers on our playlists.

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Another song for your playlist:    “Better Things”   by JJ Heller

Link to JJ Heller on Youtube

“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” —C S Lewis