I stood still to find it again and then the bird perched in boldness and just waited on the top of the tomato cage. Its belly was brilliant, glistened like silk. It seemed untouched, unmarred, original and articulately designed.
At first, I thought “a tomato already?”. A brilliant spot of red amongst the lush green growth of vine.
You are loved by God.
Two pages of my journal are covered in words in reply to the question, how does God see me?
I finished Henri Nouwen’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son”. There are multiple asterisks in the margins and many underlines.
I paused here yesterday. Read and reread about A First and Everlasting Love.
“For a very long time I considered low self-esteem to be some kind of virtue. I had been warned so often about pride and conceit that I came to consider it a good thing to deprecate myself.” Henri Nouwen
Nouwen reminds of Psalm 139, that before we opened our eyes to life, God had brilliant plans already decided in the way He made us.
Often, I think of the beauty of being wonderfully made and not so much the “fearfully” part. What does it mean to us that we are made “fearfully”.
I would say it means “well-made”, not haphazardly, not without intention and plan, well-thought, very, very distinct and worthwhile.
So, I continue to return to the truth for me and for you.
We are valuable according to God and that value doesn’t change according to the limitations I know like fear, self-destructive patterns, lack of confidence and/or lack of the notice of others.
This is the “footprint” I want to leave here when I’m gone.
Your value is not determined by what has happened to you or what you hoped would and did not.
Your value is according to God. He fearfully planned it for you to discover just how “wonderful” you are.
Your value is not determined by the plans of God that got trampled by malice, meanness or evil decisions of another.
Your value remains untainted, to be discovered with sweet and steady intention…you keep going towards it.
Continue and believe.
“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.” Psalm 139:14 ESV
When my granddaughter balanced on the highest beams and danced on the lofty walls up the playground equipment, I imagined her losing her footing. I was ready to drop all my stuff and catch her. Instead, she offered joy. She shared her confidence with me.
She demonstrated faith in herself and faith in me and reminded me of God that she sees, clearly more clearly than me.
“I’m older now. I can do this.” ELB
When I read about the man who was blind I can’t help but see a boy. I don’t know why.
“As he passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
Jesus answered, “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.” John 9:1-3 ESV
Jesus is saying exactly what he means.
As God’s Son, the “light of the world”, it was God’s plan that this man, blind from birth would have an encounter with Jesus and be healed. That he would follow the “doctor’s orders” and go to a pool called Siloam and put muddy water on his eyes.
This man, a beggar before this day, all on his own with no hope for better and no hope on the part of his parents.
He was healed and everybody thought it was impossible. So they refuted, doubted, questioned the simplicity of it.
And he told all the protesters of his sudden sight recovery that he didn’t fully understand either. He just knew he could see them.
In the margin of my Bible I have written,
Can it really be true? I am healed?
The next chapter over, John details the story of the death of Lazarus and of the way Jesus tarried in attending to his friend.
When Mary and Martha, who were friends of Jesus, worshippers of him, came to tell him about their brother, he didn’t immediately go to see about him…he waited two days.
What was he thinking? Isn’t Lazarus dead? What is the reason you’re not hurrying to heal this man, your friend…don’t you love this whole family, Jesus?
Valid questions.
Jesus told the disciples essentially, I know what I’m doing…you will see.
“Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus has died, and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” John 11:14-15 ESV
When Jesus saw for himself, he wept.
“Jesus wept.” John 11:35 ESV
As the Son of God, he was broken over the death and yet, He knew God’s intention. This death and resurrection will be recorded. It will make a difference in the lives of others.
It will help others make sense of their own unattended to and lingering sickness of heart, mind and body.
When Jesus says “this illness (trauma, circumstance, abuse, neglect, poverty, anxiety, fear, addiction or unmet longing) will not lead to death, he’s not saying it won’t be difficult, He is saying, if you will allow me to enlighten you, to heal you.
You will be light for others.”
And that is the why, the worth, the reason for suffering.
So that we grow into who God knows we are, that we are resurrected from the lives of before.
That we live like a rescued adult, cushioned by grace.
No longer like that child with hurts, questions and or mistakes.
Joyously.
The intention of Jesus for you.
“These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.” John 15:11 ESV
Keep going, higher than ever and with joy and hope.
Continue and believe. You are fully known and loved, have been all along.
Countless times I’ve known “goodness by surprise”, things continued and finished and left alone to develop or fizzle actually come back around to close the circle in response to that sort of open-ended question.
…let us run with patience the race set before us. Hebrews 12:1 KJV
in green pastures
I lifted the kitchen window. I’m home alone and it’s a Sunday morning rainy song.
Which do you think matters more
Skill or endurance?
Pursuit or acceptance?
I’m not a runner but I’ve heard pacing yourself is important.
Last night I dreamt I was running. It was a dream layered with threats and pursuit and one that ended with comfort.
Deeply personal and I guess likely will never be fully understood.
I opened my devotional to read an unknown author’s letter of encouragement to Christians during trials…words about endurance and about the things of life that entangle us and impede our ability to run the course set for us with peace and ease.
So many times, scripture seems nonsensical.
How is it humanly possible to run with patience?
I mean, isn’t the point of running to get there more quickly with faster dropping feet on the ground or pavement, of pushing past everyone else?
Or maybe the reason we run with patience is because there are no competitors in our race of life marked by our faith. It’s just us on our own pre-decided by our Maker trail.
The spirit of God invisible to others, but within and beside us.
A solitary race, an especially intense one not because of its importance, rather because of the very tender and personal reward.
Peace, often by surprise.
Peace that sometimes awes.
Run with patience the path that has been set for youalone.
Now, here’s the story of this I know.
Grandma, your angels…
This painting came to life after being layered and pondered many times. I’d been asked to “live paint” as an accompaniment to my artist story for a women’s event.
I was wise enough to choose the better, to not talk and paint at the same time. I’d tried that before and I decided to learn from what was not me nor easy.
So, this large piece traveled as a backdrop to my story of what had been not so easy lessons in my artist as business endeavors.
I spoke of how God was teaching me that my value was not acclaim, gallery shows, representation or sold out collections.
Rather, my value is my story of continuing.
Fast forward, I get all excited and choose this piece for a prestigious exhibit and am thrilled and a little too obviously excited when a couple decided it should be in their home…and then reconsidered.
Then, I submit “Of Lasting Value” as a part of my portfolio for an Emerging Artist Show.
Again, giddiness over the possibility of acceptance and “fame” convinced me I’d be “in”.
Not selected though and I’d actually decided not to enter this piece in a local show. I was so confident, I’d decided…well, I can’t enter it if it’s committed someplace else.
A simple decision, an afterthought led to entering it in the local show because of the tenderness of its story and it came full circle, a tearful surprise.
Of Lasting Value, detail
My husband and I entered the gallery for the opening reception and I scanned the room to find my paintings.
“There’s a ribbon on one of mine.” I said quietly, almost a whisper.
Then discovered and later heard the juror’s reason why
My painting had been selected, “Best in Show”.
Congratulatory chats continued and I told a friend, “There’s such a bigger significance to this for me.”
Later, I made a promise to myself, or I guess I should say a request of God.
Don’t let this fade, the blessing of this honor, the many layers to the story of me written by You
This affirmation clearly that I am your beloved, that I am loved by you, God.
I don’t know where the story of this painting will go from here, whether I’ll stop by the gallery to see a red dot saying she’ll be gracing someone’s home or whether she’ll be coming back to me.
I don’t know yet. I’ll be patient. I’ll keep walking with a stillness I can’t create or maintain on my own. I’ll be shepherded on this path I am on.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.” Psalm 23:2 ESV
We stopped by the gallery, my granddaughter and I. We love to decide on a “favorite”.
We had the whole space to ourselves and after she’d pointed out “my angels”, said “Hurry, hurry, look” and turned the corner to gaze long at a brilliant painting of the ocean.
A textured piece with vividly and perfectly rendered sea grass with a background of water and sunset.
And this one, she told me was her favorite because it was “shiny”.
And I told her, my little artist and watcher of all things, just how spectacular I found it to be too.
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up.
And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.” Hebrews 12:1 NLT
Run with patience the path made for you.
Others are watching, not following, not chasing you.
“But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.” Matthew 28:5 ESV
The rhododendron, magenta in soft color cups its petals upward from a thick branch, thick as a tiny tree.
The leaves that flare around and about it are dark green, thick and waxy. I believe it’s a rare flowering shrub. Three years ago, like a child finding a treasure, I found it. Now, I wait with a blissful anticipation to see the display again.
The spectacularly elegant flower, I believe a cousin to the azalea but so much bolder.
I had lunch with a friend not long ago. It was a first time sit together, want to know you better sort of thing.
She is an artist. She and I shared our stories, the alikeness and the differences.
I admire her strength, her intelligence and what I see as a determined grace to flourish.
After talk of art, childhood and what comes from the heart more…writing or art comparisons, we began to talk about what it means to be female.
How we’d like in our lifetimes to see women not seen as less capable, less worthy, “less than”.
I thought of this conversation for days.
I thought about what feels like futility in efforts and endeavors if one is a woman not man.
Today, I discovered why the conversation lingered, the one that wondered why we are valued.
Here we again, that whole seeking value conundrum I’ve been trying to quit.
Last week, I wrote myself a very honest note.
“The more you achieve, the more you receive, the more you are known for your art, your writing, your appearance, your family or some other surprise special thing…the more you are known for these things, the more it will never be enough. Because the “more” of you, the value others need is the true story of you …you seeing your value according to Jesus.”
Because, Jesus is more. Jesus is better.
In a flash of clarity, I almost heard my very thoughts.
Women need to know that their value is according to God and they need to know sooner than later.
I need to somehow tell them.
Then, I thought of the women Jesus empowered.
I thought of Mary Magdalene, the woman healed from evil debilitating spirits. I thought of how there were no requirements of her to be the one standing beside the empty tomb, to hear Jesus say
Mary, it’s me, go tell all the men.
And I’m thinking now of the woman at the well, the woman sick for years, the women who in those days were supposed to be little and be belittled never were seen that way by Jesus…so, why must we think we’re supposed to feel small?
Or worse even, find our value in any other effort or acclaim.
I’m a work in progress here. Today, I painted a piece with women scattered “At Rest” and I rested too.
Strong like a rhododendron, beautifully fragile in its display, held up by strong branch, deep, deep roots,
Seekers of strength, light and love us all.
May we settle and sit quietly and remember the peace that never leaves and the value decided by God of us all longer before than we can ever know.
I finished a short book, a memoir I was asked to endorse. I committed to read in its entirety at first because I’ve heard endorsers of books rarely read the book fully.
And then, because I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll share more about this book soon.
For now though, a little about this little prayer, the graphic I offer you here.
Maybe, I thought, a more acceptable prayer, one more able to help tie the loose ends of unanswered questions, to heal wounds still festering, a prayer more conducive to strength and with less shame.
“God, turn it for good.”
The book I finished caught my breath with its honesty, made me pause overwhelmed by the author’s words of wisdom and mostly, empathy.
It’s a memoir about child sexual abuse, a woman detailing her faith and counseling journey as she bravely reveals her secret, confronts her abuser, her father.
Intertwined in her coming to terms with the abuse by her father, she comes to terms with her questions about why she wasn’t protected by God and how the ripple effect of her sexual abuse separated her even farther from the God she was raised in every Sunday morning church to know.
Because she wasn’t protected, she believed less that she was “wronged” and that all along it was her that was “wrong”.
As I read, many comments were added for my benefit. I became teary eyed when I read of her circling back and back again to the why of God, where and why and how was it allowed?
Her counselor gifted her with words I’ve learned to treasure.
God was there too. God was not pleased. Evil took over. But, God was there with you.
Just as He is today.
Still, it is close to impossible for this truth I choose to be less mystery than reality.
I am learning. God saved me for this.
I’m learning to hold in one hand my questions while balancing in the other the evidence of God in my life, the promises that have been fulfilled.
All of the trauma, the unfair treatment, the less than storybook childhood, the abuse, the grief, the slander of my name by others.
The lack of rescue until I was numb to having a hand clench my neck or throw me against a wall. Stunned, I was stunned into submission of things that should never have happened at all.
That I did not cause.
These hurts are long gone and the thoughts they’ve birthed that I share here are for your hope.
These redemptive thoughts.
So, I offer you this little prayer, a phrase you can say on repeat for whatever wrongs you’ve known.
God, turn it for good.
Once, a few years ago (I’ve thankfully come so far) my counselor asked me if I ever asked Jesus where he was.
So, I asked and He answered slowly, not audibly or enormously, instead so fittingly, an image like a painting.
A familiar place where hard things happened and beside me in a grassy place, Jesus kneeled.
Jesus was with me.
I offer you this prayer.
A precious one, really and not an attempt to right wrongs, a gift of retribution, or a magic eraser of pain.
No, a leaning really. Just a leaning as you learn, as you see God with you.
“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.” John 15:13 ESV
I asked my friend to counsel me. She invited me to dinner instead and we counseled, consoled and decided some things.
Considered why there’s no 12 step type group for those who are questioners, often to the point of despondency, despairing and the other “D”, depression.
There was healing in our agreement, there was laughter over our recognition of that need.
There was the knowing of ourselves and of one another.
Befriending.
I had dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in close to two years. I was scurrying to make it and almost cancelled. My hair was dirty, I didn’t feel too “spunky” and well, I’m older than the last time I saw her. I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been thinking about aging.
But, I made it to the spot, dry shampoo and mascara plumped eyelashes with blush on my cheeks.
I beat her there. She arrived and we held each other long, long, long. “I love you” was the greeting as well as the goodbye.
We talked, we laughed, we counseled one another. We ate pizza over a glass of good wine.
When I woke the next morning, my first thought was “God’s not disappointed in you.” and as the day became sunny and pink with azaleas, I took to heart that I shouldn’t be either and I smiled as I remembered my friend’s hands in mine as we caught up with each other and decided.
“We’re gonna make it after all.”
Two days later, I’m recalling the likemindedness in our chatter. I’m remembering her inquisitive patience. I’m reminding myself of the gift of affirmation, the bravery of listening when listening is more important than adding to the conversation.
Early today, I rethought a familiar prayer, the one prayed by Jabez, (I Chronicles 4:10) the son who was labeled by a name that made his future seem grim.
Lord, help me to trust you to enlarge my boundaries, extend my reach and keep me from chasing after things that will lead to pain, things fueled by insecurity and fear.
I readied myself in the dark for my day, interrupted by the nudge to pray.
A prayer with a shift in perspective.
Jesus, help me to accept fully your befriending.
Because all sorts of songs and trendy Christian talk will proclaim friendship with Jesus.
But, oh to be honest, it’s not up to us at all.
No effort will sustain the relationship.
It’s really much more simple.
Acceptance. Belief.
Be befriended by Jesus.
I’m not sure where I’d be if there were an expiration date on my understanding of such things.
I’m old and I yet young in this friendship actually.
You’ll likely hear this song soon or hear about it. Lauren Daigle’s tender voice and truth admitting she’d be a mess without the friendship of Jesus.
“Endurance is not a desperate hanging on but a traveling from strength to strength.” Eugene Peterson
Why am I less moved by the sky, the clouds fluffed or swept like a feather?
Out walking yesterday, I wondered.
Just a few years ago I was moved by gnarly branches on an old pecan tree, scattered white blooms on the asphalt trail or maybe a solitary leaf dried so completely by the sun it glistened metallic.
Noticing God, I called this.
Why so hurried in an irritable way now?
A daily habit that over time seems to be sort of furious?
Walking too fast, too angrily hurry, hurry, hurrying to some better destination.
Better days?
The place with no remnants of pandemic.
The better place, the place with no residue or remembrance of what happened or who or what didn’t come through.
Couldn’t be counted on.
On Wednesday, my path crossed a Target shopper leaving. Her phone on her cheek, she passed me, quick as a rabbit and I overheard her tell somebody “what the Republicans did today!”
And I wondered, when did we ever in our lives finish up a midweek shopping trip and urgently report to someone what a Republican did today?
A woman, about my age, distressed on a pretty day about the government.
We are different now.
I am learning.
Learning still. I can embrace a thought that now makes my response to trauma make more sense.
I can befriend these surprising revelations.
I can toss them over in my mind and see the value in finally beginning to understand my own tender heart and behaviors.
I can allow truth to make sense.
Today, the sky was striated pink and to the right rested the remnant of moon, a crescent.
I couldn’t look away.
It kept getting better.
Too splendid to capture in a photo, I stood solid footed and I watched.
Unhurried, only noticing.
Noticing God again.
Maybe that’s what obedience is and not some frenetic race to keep on, keep on, keep on.
Maybe obedience is noticing splendor, noticing God.
Knowing that where you are in this very never to be repeated moment.
You are loved.
Continue and believe.
Pass it on, this slow walk called noticing.
“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
I stared out the window, the tops of pines golden in the early light. A mysterious sight, a dab of different color caused me to stare.
A pine branch must’ve splintered and the light color must be the underbelly of the bark. Then, I looked again. The object was gone.
I concluded it had to have been an owl or a hawk and naturally, that led to even more romanticizing this enigma in the trees.
Mid-morning, I looked again. With a baby on my chest, I discovered the object was a balloon that had gotten tangled and deflated and the wind had it dancing in and out of my sight.
Then, I began to get excited.
My granddaughter’s butterfly balloon had escaped her grip and “gone up to heaven” never to be seen again.
She arrived home with her mama and before I could tell her, her mama spotted it.
A hurried gathering of jackets began and I listened as she asked, “I gotta show you something, remember us asking God to help us find your balloon?”
She nodded with a smile that said she knew the surprise already.
Then baby boy and I watched from the window as they struck out through the hay field to the very back corner, a valley.
From a distance, I saw my daughter grab a broken limb and somehow dislodge the tangled ribbon and the flattened balloon.
Then, they took the long way back around the field, the walk I call “around the block”.
I asked my daughter, “Was it the butterfly?” anxious to join them in the mystery, the answered prayer.
“No, it was a Valentine’s one from who knows where.”
I watched my granddaughter, ever the listener as she quickly announced that it was hers anyway, just not the butterfly, it was her Valentine balloon (imagined).
She decided it was worth celebrating, special and unexpected even if wasn’t exactly the miracle we thought.
And then she moved on to something else, balloon adventure forgotten.
This morning, I discovered a pretty word I love and had big plans for I may have misused or slightly made wrongly “mine”. (I do this.)
Resonance.
I suppose it has nothing to do with feelings and mostly with science.
Like my granddaughter, I think I’m gonna think differently and decide on my own.
I don’t know why this happens. I decide to pull out the beginning pages of my long ago decided memoir and I go to the library and I run my fingers across the familiar words and the tenderness is so tender, I begin to cry.
I’m not sure what this means.
I’m not jumping to any conclusions as to whether it means close that door or throw every window and door back open. Step back in and don’t ever pack it away or fold it like a letter and seal the envelope forever.
It’s just an observation.
Library, window view towards the blue sky, laptop open, pages ready for pen and then…
Soft, never harsh tears.
I’m in the library, a place I love for two reasons though. My husband is painting cabinets and needed me not to hover.
More importantly, someone I know only through blogging is publishing her memoir and sent the manuscript to me. She asked me to read and endorse her book.
We’ve never met. I know her story and she knows mine through our blogs.
I’m forty pages in to her memoir which begins with a note to the reader, to women like me who’ve had their lives complicated by uninvited trauma.
Resonance.
An inaudible echo in my soul as I read her story, pause to be amazed by her knowing my feelings.
Resonance, a pretty word I love to decide is mine to choose sort of like the mystery balloon not being completely true and yet, choosing to believe.
Sort of beautiful really, the license love affords us to use when we decide life is and can be full and we fully immerse ourselves in the good, the bad, to the no way it’s true…we can choose.
I hope this is a soft echo for you.
Life lived fully known and open to the enigma of you and others who privately or not say “me too” adding to the resonance in ripples.
You know it’s yours to tell and yet, you can’t bring yourself to share it. One of mine is about a well-loved one eyed teddy bear.
I have deadlines for writing and art opportunities. They’re looming.
Tuesday, an old question about a title resurfaced and God answered. God gave me the subtitle for the book idea I’d decided to forget.
Last year, I was given a t-shirt with the word INFLUENCER across the chest. It’s in my closet. It’s not me to proclaim such a label. I imagine people thinking,
“Really, who does she think she is?”
But, I am and you are too. Influencing others.
Whether it’s your faith or your confidence in anything else. You, by your beliefs lived out in what you do, are an influencer.
“Agree with God, and be at peace; thereby good will come to you.” Job 22:21-ESV
Job is influential because it made no sense to agree with God in his plight, but he remained committed to God being God.
You likely will never know all the people you influence.
I keep procrastinating writing and sending my Artist portfolio to two places I recorded as goals. The reason is an honest one. I don’t want to do it halfway. Because haphazard is my “go to” set up to accept rejection.
A way to ease the I wasn’t good enough anyway.
This is my truth. I do not like rejection. Thankfully, I am getting better at accepting it…of understanding that offering my art and words to the world is so much less about me than two things:
My confidence in me being made by God to be a creative.
And bravely understanding that my patterns of sabotaging my opportunities are not personal defects, only ingrained ideas that are being gently unlearned. (This is a biggie, hold it closely if it resonates for you.)
A prayer, maybe you have something to do and you’ve been afraid. It’s okay. We’re learning.
Go gently as you pray.
Dear Lord, Help me not to be haphazard or half-hearted. Help me to be fully me and present knowing that you are the maker of me, the intricacies and hopes that stir fear. Help me to know that you’re the Creator and I’m just the sharer.
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 