“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old.
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

On the top of my “to do” is to download my blogposts as I prepare to move my words from here to Substack.

The question mark is gone, I’ve decided to move. But the questions remain.

Do I print every post? Do I simply save them? Are there words that will cause me to cringe? Are they a spattering of wisdom worth keeping for later sharing, maybe publication?

Yes, to everything.

I sit with my list, the Labrador is so very chill; I believe happy I’m home and not hurried.

I view the YouTube tutorial again.

Okay, I’m gonna do it…

Later.

Not on the list is the closet, the tangled mess of costume, classy and funky necklaces, dysfunction!

I attended a Christmas party last night. I almost didn’t. My closet and its sad collection of not fitting or way too far worn and gone clothing set my tone towards dismay.

I pulled it together and had some pleasant and memorable conversations.

Back down the hall I went today. Before shipping sold art, before painting, before the WordPress cancellation that I must do by Friday.

I started in the back. I touched every garment. I charted the seasons and phases of me.

A period when I bought sweaters oversized and chunky because I thought I’d never be not “plus” any longer.

The too large pieces were jerked from the hangers and began the pile for donation.

Next the “dry clean only” executive pieces, pencil skirts, cardigan, fancy blouses for under blazers. These were the outfits for those days I took the stand in juvenile court to speak unwaveringly confident about the abuses children endured.

Those were the meeting clothes, board meeting or travels to Atlanta.

Interview for promotions attire.

Those are not me, these positions are no longer my calling or service.

Then the “statement necklaces”, a tangled mess were untangled.

A bunch of those were chunked along with a favorite black turtleneck that I decided to sit for “just a second” to paint and ruined the sleeve after an hour.

But a few pieces, I kept.

The Mother’s Day gift tunic, worn transparent from washing.

The fancy camisole I wore to my daughter’s wedding and my mother of the bride dress.

A red sweater because of my mama.

The bluebird blue structured top I wore to the Citadel graduation of my son.

The long sleeve black A-line dress I wore to my mama’s funeral, the shoes as well.

Another black dress, more of a sheath from my thinner days, the one I felt both pretty and presentable in for the first time going to church with Greg.

A necklace made of macaroni, painted purple and threaded on twine, a match for the one Elizabeth made.

A few other things that I treasure were kept.

More than I thought I was able to part with are now ready to be loaded into my car for donation.

The ease of this chore always surprises me.

We can let go if we just begin.

We can begin again if we will just will ourselves to let go.

I hope you’ll follow me to Substack. I’m just there as me, Lisa Anne Tindal.

I hope you’ll see the reason for my move, the decision to be more intentional about writing as one affected by complex trauma.

Writing from a place of my words an offer of hope.

To do no harm, simply be brave enough to be new.

Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Thanks for being here all these years. I pray you’ll follow.