“The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.” Psalm 90:10 ESV
Changing Days
In the night, I’m awakened by deep pain in the upper right arm. I turn to the other side, feed my arm though the pillow, let my hand rest against the headboard.
For a few moments, who knows how long since sleeping either feels like a long long time or only just a minute.
The ache returns. I shift. I reposition.
I sleep.
My trainer says it’s likely the tendon that has some tearing. So I choose a lighter weight.
I don’t stop lifting.
She adds it’s likely the baby carrying and pauses and with no regard for my emotions, concludes…
Also, the painting, the steady and repetitive motion of the brushing of paint on a canvas.
And I’m startled in a serious way.
“Ohhhh…” I say.
Meaning, “Oh no!” but keeping that tinge of grief to myself.
Then the advisors advise.
“Rotator cuff”, “tough surgery”
“You don’t want to mess with that.”
“A supplement is what you need, CoQ10 is wonderful.”
So, yes. I’m now a supplement(s) consumer.
Talking About Leaves
Because I’m painting still and I’m still holding the baby.
I’m growing. I’m aging. My arms are past sixty years of good and meaningful use.
Moving towards 70.
Contemplatively beginning to number my days.
“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 ESV
I’m walking with my grandson in the same morning way I walked with my four year old granddaughter. She loved and loves talking.
He likes music.
Soon, he’ll be running.
I’ll be teaching him about the “stay in the middle, middle, middle, middle.”
To keep his eyes on the road, to distinguish between a root and a snake.
Soon, he’ll be sprinting.
My legs will need to be able to keep up.
So, I keep moving.
I keep using what I got.
Around The Bend
And I’ll keep growing.
I’ll make sure the soil of my soul is fertile.
My arms connected like branches to the nourishment of the vine, my Savior.
Because like the worn out tendons, the much used bones, the hands and fingers used to hold and to create and to cherish the objects I’ve been gifted to make.
I must care for them.
I must nurture my growth.
Wisdom comes in knowing.
In knowing, God’s not finished with me yet.
I’m still growing.
The majestic oak that cushions the curve is sheddingits bark. Brownish grey paper size pieces of bark are scattered in the weeds. The thick and arm like branches from the hefty trunk are now a pristine color.
“Favorite” Tree
I told myself last week
“Your branches are brittle, your reaching has distanced you from the vine.”
I’m less than seven years from seventy.
My mama was buried the day before her 70th.
Hers and my health are not close to the same but our stories are marked by similar trauma, a similar tenacity and I believe, a comparable hope and a love for living.
I thought of her in the fog of today’s morning. I have things I want to say.
“It’s unfair”, I said to no one within hearing.
“Yes, it is.” I answered and continued into my day.
Knowing she’d say “Choose life today, Lisa. Choose life. Keep turning the page.”
Keep growing.
Continue being brave.
Walking
The pains you’re noticing are proof.
Proof of your choosing life despite pain, despite unfairness and in the midst of necessary change.
Keep returning.
Returning to rest in me.
“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved.
In quietness and confidence is your strength.” Isaiah 30:15 NLT
When my children were babies, we walked to the creek, the clay road with deep ditches, one holding my hand or running fast ahead, the other held tightly in my arms…one hand under the booty and the other around the chest.
Holding tightly.
Holding on.
Without limits or conditions.
Love keeps us strong, letting go while embracing new.
“Why do you use/love weird words?” one or both of my children.
In some form or fashion, the question often came. And I’d say what was true.
“I love words. If we’ve got ‘em we need to use them.”
I have an old dictionary, 1962 Webster’s. The pages are the color of clay and smelly.
But, I love words. I just do. God woke me with the question again of why I have a pattern of making myself small, why small feels safe. A word came, do I try to “diminish” my worth? Alone and small feels safe. And yet, I am certain there’s only a tiny bit I know of all who might be influenced by my story, by my creative expression.
There’s safety in being diminished. I looked the word up in the old dictionary and it’s just what I thought, “to make less, weaken, impair”.
God led me to Exodus. The people were discontent with the bountiful provision. Most translations say they were “grumbling” and yet, the more appropriate and earlier translated word was “murmuring”.
Dancing Leaves, one of 3
Again, I go to Webster. To murmur is to “utter complaints in a low doleful sound”. And “doleful” is a sound that someone makes when they are sorrowful or in dismay.
The whole congregation of Israel was “grumbling”. In the ESV version, the word is used eight times in Chapter 16.
I’m the KJV, the word is “murmurings”.
“I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel: speak unto them, saying, At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled with bread; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God.” Exodus 16:12 KJV
Yesterday, I saw faces of grocery store shoppers. I saw a dullness, an apathy, a less than attentive glance to those around them. I saw “doleful” expressions.
Why does one word matter? Murmuring comes from dismay. Grumbling is well just more of a selfish grouchiness.
It matters because of the invitation to know that God sees you, hears your quiet complaint. God is provision. Your woeful or questioning wilderness is being noticed.
And just as the Lord told the Israelites even in their hopeless state…I cared for you. He is caring for me.
For you.
For the generations that are here and to come because of you.
“And Moses said, This is the thing which the LORD commandeth, Fill an omer of it to be kept for your generations; that they may see the bread wherewith I have fed you in the wilderness, when I brought you forth from the land of Egypt.” Exodus 16:32 KJV
With a tiny bit of trepidation and the need to refresh my memory, I’ve just searched to find a short devotion I submitted for publication that was rejected.
I often am met with puzzled expressions or worse, a squinty eyed and wrinkled forehead over the things I say, the things I think.
I responded to a poll by an author who is studying brain science, how the science of the brain is effected by relational trauma.
I typed…
“I’d love to know if memories of trauma can ever completely go away?”
Once, in a conversation with a clinician friend who is an expert in all things amygdala related, I proposed
One day, what if one day, scientists discover how to surgically remove traumatic memories from the brain?
My friend looked at me, knowing I was serious and it seemed, she was deeply moved by such an imaginative hope.
I realize I’m sometimes too much for some people.
I reread my submitted devotion, maybe too heavy or even “far fetched” over the possibility that Jesus might have a mind like mine. Or maybe, the tone was wrong, less than perfect grammar or perhaps, it was not a fit for a book of 40 days to a stronger, more courageous mind I suppose.
Rejection doesn’t bother me as much as before. I love writing. I’m owning my voice, honesty and all.
So here’s what I wrote:
A Mind Like Mine, Is it Possible?
Lisa Anne Tindal
Key Verse: “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV
Countless days I have felt the unwelcome weight on my chest, the creeping up of vice-like unrest brought on by my thoughts.The recurring nuisance of anxiety for no reason that feels like entrapment.
I pause and question the cause. I say private prayers, take long walks and do something creative with my hands. I clean. I rearrange shelves or entire rooms. I do some stretches. I put my legs against the wall and my hands on my chest.
I remind myself of the most important, although not instantaneous response.
I remind myself that my loving Father would never desire or cause me to feel this way. I recall the promise in II Timothy, written by Paul, a prisoner awaiting execution. I say to myself, “This feeling is not from God.”.
“…for God gave us not a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control.” II Timothy 1:7 ESV
I also remind myself of Paul’s words that assert we are able to understand our Father God because we have the mind of Christ. Our minds are changed, comforted, informed by the Holy Spirit in us when we accept Jesus as our Savior.
“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV
The thought of having the mind of Christ captivates me and stirs curiosity over the characteristics that would define such a mind.
So, I created a poll on Instagram, added a little note saying “doin’ some research”. I asked my followers to give me a word to describe the mind of Jesus. There was nary an answer, lots of hearts and likes, but no participation in the poll.
Could it be the question was beyond actually believing that our minds could be “Jesus-like”?
Just last week, questions over a decision prompted questions of God.
“Why the resistance to your call on my life?”
“Have I ever felt that I knew your will without question, or have I spent my whole life making iffy choices that you’ve redeemed?”
“What is your will for me God?” I opened my Bible to search for a verse in Micah. Instead, my eyes met a sketch I’d created on the pages of Joshua.
A woman with a posture of listening and my handwriting reminding, “Incline your heart to the Lord.” ( Joshua 24:23 ESV) and boldly circled verses with the words,sincerity, faithfulness.
Sincerity and faithfulness,
I would insert in the IG poll because I have known my Savior to be sincere in His faithfulness to me.
I wonder how my fear, anxiety and resistance might fade if I dared to believe that because I have the mind of Christ, with humble grace I could say in time, “His mind is like mine.”
What a beautiful thought worth embracing.
I can be sincere, and I can choose faithfulness. My mind can be without torment.
My mind can be changed by my heart’s position. My mind can be gently faithful and with sincerity, become more content, less shaken.
Confidently, “more me”.
A Prayer:
Lord, you understand our minds unrelentingly. You lead us to be questioners in your Will. You answer. You calm. You strengthen our minds. You help us see ourselves from your perspective. You help our minds to connect with our hearts and to be still, to know what is good, acceptable and perfect according to you.Incline us to your heart, Lord. We will trust that our minds will follow.
I’m not sure I’m a devotion writer. I’m not sure about writing at all. I’m only sure that as I write, as I grow.
I’m less bothered by this “enigmatic” mind of mine.
Continue and believe.
With sincerity and faithfulness, you are deeply loved.
I wonder if it’s a common feeling, the juxtaposition of two pursuits when you become a certain age…
A collector and cherisher of “small things” or an avid “go-after-er” of “limitless”, of all the longings of your heart you’d thought might not be for you, possibilities.
Maybe it’s both in a gentle and knowing of yourself as your Maker made you.
I bought myself two gifts yesterday on my 63rd birthday, a pear shaped candle and a bangle the rich color of jade, the same shade in the “Restoration” collection now available.
There was nothing I needed, I said with ease.
I just wanted those two things.
I came home to birthday cards and there were flower deliveries on the porch that were surprises and only found because my daughter asked “Is there something for you on the porch?”
And there sat two of the most boldly happy arrangements you can imagine, the colors complements of each other.
My son, my daughter ordered flowers, neither knowing the other hoped to brighten my day, yellow roses, lilies and sunflowers.
Patient, on my porch while I piddled around my solitary home, added touches to a canvas I’ll soon take away because they’re too contrived, too hard, not gentle; curled up with an actual book under my quilt and then moved with small and slow steps for the arrival of my daughter and her family.
For birthday swimming.
Dinner and cheesecake with cherries on top.
Later, I sat and lit the candle, knowing it wouldn’t be the same, the waxy drips changing the shape no longer to pear but possibly just a blob.
No telling.
My sister called, the last of my siblings to wish me a Happy Day and we talked past my husband going to bed.
About life, about children, about books, about hope.
About knowing we can never know how our lives or the lives of our children will unfold.
But we can know that to teach them not to expect to always know, only to confidently and gently continue on.
And we can live from that knowing for ourselves and we can carry on, enlightened by life in all the ways hard and soft.
So that we can be our truest selves…mamas, sisters, wives, friends, grandmothers, aunts and whatever our hope without limits leaves on our doorsteps.
We can be where we are because of all we’ve come from and all we now know.
We can love small things and we can believe in the limitless beauty of brave pursuits too.
I saw the man again on Monday but, yesterday I wasn’t paying attention. I neglected to glance over to find the front yard of the trailer hidden in a shady hollow place.
Overgrown it was the day I saw the pair standing so far apart they would need to raise their voices.
The grass was high like wheat and a man with a flock of blonde hair all crazy stood with his hands crossed and a positioning of his torso saying “I ain’t staying much longer.”
Facing him was another man, his head tilted to one side in a way that said sincerity.
I wondered about the relationship.
Father, step-father, mama’s friend, uncle or older brother.
I wondered who had caused the crack in relationship and who was resisting more the reconciliation of it.
I also wonder why I wonder. Why I see humans in conditions that are fragile and why God made me to want those conditions to be better.
I know God made me this way and somehow I know the intervening is not for me to accomplish, only God.
So, I pray for strangers. I just do.
And I think about them. I still pause to consider.
“What’s their story?”
I woke with thoughts about love this morning, about the importance of “for my part” demonstrating love.
Love that doesn’t put us in danger of emotional harm is just a positioning of our hearts and mind, we can stay safe in showing love when it’s hard by just deciding we want restoration for someone, we want them to know they are loved by their Creator and if they’ll allow it, by others too.
“Relationship, especially family, requires a commitment to relationship despite differences, dysfunction, and most importantly delays in the other person longing in the same way for relationship.”
I laid still in the place of very good and needed rest and questioned why these words came.
I figured it must be that I’m still curious about the family in the overgrown yard.
I saw the older man a second time. Tall and skinny, a bearded man with baggy britches and an oddly colored pipe dangling from his mouth.
He was swaying in a rhythm with a weed eater as he cleared and cleaned the high grass and weeds.
He was making the situation better.
There was contentment in his movements.
Maybe in the knowledge that he tried and is trying. So, I’ll drive past the place of these two people again next week and I’ll believe the best is being done to restore what’s been neglected or wronged.
And I’ll believe more strongly in the truth of love being demonstrated in small ways to invite change (even if we don’t get to see it).
Because, it’s not about us anyway, it’s about the one who’s messed up and in need of love believing it may be possible…
Restoration.
“God is a restorative God. He is restoring all losses.” John Eldredge, author of “Get Your Life Back”
Continue and believe.
“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 ESV
I discovered yesterday that 2023 marks a “Jubilee” year for me as I approach my birthday. It’s surprisingly tender, this discovery…almost too difficult to put into words. Maybe I will, maybe I’ll just rest in the discovery of a year symbolic of release and restoration.
I love the sound of “August”, the sounds of it. The excitement for new things like a school year, a settledness from summer things that sometimes feel like “have to do’s” more than want to’s.
Last year’s calendar came to be when I considered the gift of a dove’s meaning, the nearness of God, the invitation to be a believer in and a seeker of peace.
Maybe August comes with an invitation to change the way we’re walking, sort of reroute our navigation.
I discovered the Biblical meaning of August being themes like new beginnings, reset, and one I especially love, “restoration” and I for one, am happy the day is here…the very first day to move courageously (even if again or against the wind) toward beautiful yet to be seen ways that God is a God of restoration.
Nine paintings of women came to life as I thought about the courage that comes from allowing and aligning with God’s restorative love and discipline.
“Restoration”
He’s making us new, leading us who are listening, noticing and recalling just how far we’ve coming.
Our colors are changing, no longer hidden.
We’re vibrant.
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” Isaiah 30:21 ESV
So, watch and notice. Pay attention. August is ready to bring restoration, to continue in ways that felt new, or to begin anew.
Next year’s calendar?
I’m thinking “transformation” as its theme.
Butterflies as art.
“Restoration” pieces will be live on my website (www.lisaannetindal.me) in just TWO Days!
we run away from our discomfort... but it doesn't leave us. to heal we need to turn around and face it, experience it and once we truly do we are out of it. We heal and we grow.
2 Timothy 1:7-8 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. This blog is about my Christian walk. Join me for the adventure.
Lisa Anne Tindal 