Nevertheless, Worth Fighting For

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, eating disorder, Faith, grace, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

Disclaimer: There’s honest mention of eating disordered behaviors in this post. My intent is always, offer hope, not remind of harm. I pray so.

A large painting in progress leans against the fireplace. A practice of mine is to gaze over at an in progress piece or a finished one to decide if “I like what it says”.

This one began subdued and starkly pure in tones, white, ivory, subtle gold and the strong dark grey.

Now, it’s in a different in progress stage, almost done and more strong in color.

Years ago, I wrote a blog post chronicling an encounter with a man who was a splendid storyteller. He was very much a fan of the word “nevertheless”.

He shared his life story in incremental pauses introduced by the word.

I’ve since learned to love the word.

Last week, I stared at my unnamed painting. I knew its story was unfinished and I’d need to be intentional; nevertheless, not force its completion.

As I pondered the piece, a thought and words came.

“You’re worth fighting for, Lisa. You may have never heard those words, but you are and you’ve been ‘worth fighting for’ for all of your life.” Journal entry 5/10/24

So serious. Yes, I know.

Too serious to write about has been my thought.

Nevertheless, there was a new clarity in those never before uttered words.

And I saw the figures in the painting, two angelic and others onlooking in strength and love and that’s what I saw in the little brown-haired girl.

Me.

Her sweet and shy acceptance of that truth she’d made progress in believing but still had a ways to go,

To keep believing, nevertheless.

To keep believing so that she could overcome even more.

Not overcome to be bold or brave or boastful but because overcoming symbolized more.

Led and leads to more.

You are worth overcoming whatever is trying to overcome you.

A few weeks ago I had my first physical with all the bloodwork in several years. A new physician, one recommended by two trusted friends, asked me a question I’d not been asked in decades.

She asked “How is your eating disorder?”

And I sat quietly, I looked intently into her kind face and I answered.

“So good, I am doing so good. It’s been close to 35 years since I’ve had any of those patterns. I’m so glad.”

She nodded.

And waited and I added,

“But there was a moment a few weeks ago. I was home alone. I was feeling less than, feeling the rejection that comes sometimes when we are vulnerable in life and art. I was standing in my kitchen and thought, eat all the butter pecan ice cream and balance it with a bag of burgers and then just throw it all up.”

She listened.

And I added,

“But, I didn’t even though for a moment…not more, I could feel in control, I could punish myself and I could treat food like the love I felt was missing.”

I thanked her for asking. I meant it.

For believing I was worth the question.

And for the way the question led to the remembrance of this realization.

You’re worth fighting for.

What are you battling that requires the lasting embrace of this truth that God has never given up on you?

Don’t give up on yourself.

Get back in there and fight to be aligned with His sweet and sovereign idea of you.

Because I’m convinced this is the key that will unlock the door and that the big deadbolt that keeps the door barred to wellness in our bodies and souls is this…

Insecurity

Insecurity is the voice of your foe. Insecurity blocks the door. Insecurity says “You’re not worth fighting for.”

And insecurity hides in depression, loneliness, hides in a careless attitude about our unhealthy choices,

It hides in the belief that to advocate for oneself is prideful and not humble, is haughty, not meek.

Insecurity says God’s tired of me, tired of listening to me battle this thing,

Insecurity says maybe God doesn’t care anymore, why should I?

“As long as I live I’ll keep praying to him, for he stoops down to listen to my heart’s cry.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭116‬:‭2‬ ‭TPT‬‬

I promise you, I’d not be sharing these words if God would’ve let me forget them by now.

Nevertheless, I sat in my morning spot, quiet and a little sullen and I heard deep in my soul, the words I’d never heard…

You’re worth fighting for, Lisa

And I answered, wrote him a note with a little girl tone, like a bedtime prayer.

“Thank you, God for helping me be stronger now, to decide I’m worth fighting for.”

You are too.

Believe it.

Continue and believe.

(Sermon to self always first because I stumble too. We all stumble in many ways and most every day.)

Surrender.

“The Lord preserves the simple; when I was brought low, he saved me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭116‬:‭6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

And continues to save me.

Listen

Abuse Survivor, aging, book review, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Holy Spirit, hope, love, memoir, obedience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

I pulled her book from the shelf with the others, dusty and turned with the red spine toward the wall, because I like simplicity, only the ivory color exposed.

How do I know which books are there?

I have to be a seeker.

On the first page is the author’s signature and a note from when we met years ago,

“God 1st!”

This morning, well rested, I glanced over and saw the book waiting for my devotion of seemingly wasteful time to sit still and read. There’s so many other things to do.

Coffee first and journaling then I turned to Colossians and a familiar few verses.

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3‬:‭2‬-‭3‬ ‭

A resigned and contemplative shape of a woman in the left margin and notes to self on the edges about how to love others, how to think, how to live.

Now I’m just thinking about the thinking part, about setting my mind on things above.

And the page I could fill of all the things I want here on earth more than I want God.

Naturally, I made a list because I so love a list.

Then summed up what I believe these verses are saying and what this book waiting to be read again, adding new underlines and “oh’s”.

We want “bestness”

To be our very best

and so we look for the path to being best. We look everywhere for evidence of such “bestness” and we don’t really have to look for long.

A screen will pop up with suggestions for pros to help you with being your best. Your inbox will give you instructions from someone who’s an expert on what is the measure of your best and they’re ready to bring you along.

A podcast will guide you in understanding your “number”, your personal markers of trauma and will offer to help you erase that mark in time.

Toward Hope Collection https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/lisa-anne-tindal-1

These are helpful, they are valuable and yet, not givers of that certain and essential quiet hope that feels like a tender and sweet secret.

Seems we’re all aching, yearning, researching, and striving for “bestness” and maybe in our quests we drown out or subtly buffer the expert voice within, the quiet unwavering, not “in your face”, unchanging, uncomplicated voice of God, our Creator, the very author of our unfinished book.

We have a bend towards not being needy, of believing we should be far enough along to not need and absolutely not to ask for help.

We (maybe just me) are timid in acknowledging we still struggle, we still look for evidence of our value in many things, we still wish we were farther along in our walk with with God, after all.

We resist circling back and beginning yet again which is crazy because it’s in the necessity of just us and God knowing this that we can have a sweet and private revival.

It’s a simple Sunday. The birds are singing. It’s a stay home day.

Later, I’ll open the book with my name inside and I’ll begin again, the wisdom in the admission of the need for revival.

“I Want God”, by Lisa Whittle

https://www.lisawhittle.com/books

Because I’m sixty-three years old and in my life, I’ve done a whole lot of growing and am a pretty good “knower” of me.

But, God knows me better.

Knows me more.

You too.

We are loved.

Continue and believe.

God knows you more, loves you with a merciful call every day.

“When you turn to the right or turn to the left, you will hear his voice behind you to guide you, saying, “This is the right path; follow it.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭21‬ ‭TPT‬‬

This Wonderful World

aging, bravery, contentment, curiousity, Faith, grandchildren, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

“Again I saw that under the sun the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favor to those with knowledge, but time and chance happen to them all.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭9‬:‭11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m curious which city might be for me. A city, I mean a large metropolis with streets, sidewalks, crosswalks, vehicles scurrying.

A city with windows of shops inviting in, with quick pauses not gazes inward so that I don’t cause a domino type cascade of collision because I actually stood quietly for too long.

In the mornings, some days I drive to the country road with no line in middle chunky asphalt and a deep sharp turn into valley and hill to my grandchildren’s home.

The deer alert me from a distance with the flash of their pupils. I turn and drive slowly.

They stand unfazed by the approach of me in my vehicle.

They pause. I pause.

We consider each other.

Gradual is their demeanor.

They turn to move, one, two and a third and they go on their way into what they must know is a friendly place, a refuge for them.

No need to flee. There’s not even the threat of one.

I wonder where the city may be, the one I’d love to be a resident of.

I did not love Denver.

I loved the road to get there, the road that led us through flat spaces with flatter fields and a feeling as if the highway opened magically just for us.

I loved the expanse of plump green grass in Colorado in the Spring.

I did not love the congestion and what felt like an imbalance of progress and poverty.

I do not like Atlanta.

Don’t want to go.

I love the idea of Charleston but don’t like the air of superficial quests on every corner.

I suppose I’m growing older and becoming even more the child of bare feet dirt roads.

And even less a traveler.

Even day trips to bordering counties.

Still, sweetly and deeply planted, refusing to fade, is the yearning to travel to Italy someday.

It’s a yearning not born of anyone else’s story.

Maybe a part of me like air in my lungs decided by the God who knows me and who knows.

There are places yet for you to see. Your journey is continuing.

Your dreams are dreams I’ve always seen.

Perhaps, in Italy there are dirt roads sprinkled with docile animals and kindred people who yet to encounter me.

And I, them. Kind intersections of somehow likemindedness.

And in a language without words our eyes might tell a story we decide we understand.

Until then, I’ll venture out to the country. I’ll walk on rocky roads. I’ll tilt my face upward with a little boy and I’ll wonder, just wonder where the jets are going.

I’ll stop my car in the middle of the narrow road at sunup or sundown and I’ll let the window down, aim my phone just so.

I’ll be captivated as I capture the wonder of this wonderful world.

And I’ll quietly imagine Italy.

Or maybe the high peaks of Denver, Braves baseball and pink houses with garden gates covered in moss on the skinny streets of Charleston.

Every place holds beauty.

Beauty longing to be noticed.

Presence

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

I sat in the back next to someone I don’t really know. We shared a casual conversation about pimento cheese spread. Surrounded by art, the meeting’s agenda would be sharing a YouTube film on “beauty”.

We were offered pencils and a piece of paper to jot down thoughts, told to prepare to share in a group discussion.

The poet/researcher in the video mentioned God’s creation, spoke of God’s intent for not only artists, but everyone, to recognize the power of beauty as a way to change us internally and then effect those around us.

The couple just in front of me looked towards one another often in a likemindedness that matched the word “bullshit” he wrote and held up in front of her (and me).

They exited early.

I listened as others gave feedback, sprinkled around the room were comments about architecture, about culture, about our community, about horses.

I thought to add to conversation, to suggest they all begin to notice color and to, if they felt led, to ask God in prayer to help them see color.

I planned to share how this practice and prayer has been a reset for me, spiritually and creatively.

No one had mentioned God.

Three times, maybe four, I raised my hand to be called on.

I wasn’t acknowledged and decided to stay silent.

That it was not a time to speak.

“ a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

To keep the peace I’d acquired and allow it to be a presence without words.

To possibly be peace to others without using my words.

“Did I but live nearer to God, I could be of so much more help.” George Hodges

This morning, a guest blog post on an author’s site has been shared. My words, added to her community of others writing about “beholding our beauty” in the places life places us. I was just so grateful to write inspired by Esther, her bravery and how bravery is a choice we can make every day, even if with uncertainty.

I encourage you to read not only my thoughts, but to engage in this community that Deborah Rutherford is so intentionally building.

My essay is here:

Behold Her Beauty

I woke thinking about the missed opportunity to share the way I’m encountering beauty in the colors of nature.

Today, I’ll add color to canvas and I’ll build on works in progress.

I’ll keep progressing, a pursuit of and with peace.

Let The Light In

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, confidence, contentment, creativity, curiousity, happy, hope, jubilee, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, waiting, wonder

Tiny tendrils, tender waxy strands

Breaking free from the thick ball of woodsy nourishment.

My hyacinth has bloomed.

Only $3.99 from Publix in a glass like one on a restaurant’s table

oil and vinegar.

I chose purple this year when I saw the sweet white bursting through the earth in my little spot.

A surprise from two years ago.

Now, the purple is vibrant.

The bulb strong and barely contained, a thick waxy color, aubergine.

The color I’d been seeking to add to the folds of a gown on a painting in progress.

A piece that once was muted grey, ivory and a hint of salmon is now bursting through in cautious but captivating color.

What’s going on, Lisa?

I suppose we shall see.

Days ago, I said a prayer that felt odd but honest.

God, help me to see colors.

Then, the scarlet cardinals came, the line of yellow daffodils against an old shed, the pillowy verdant green moss on the path and

Aubergine, also a name for eggplant is inviting me to see color as more than pretty,

As significant.

I asked to see color.

And color is surprising me with strength.

And light.

And imaginings of beautiful things.

Of unclouded days.

“The eyes of your spirit allow revelation-light to enter into your being. If your heart is unclouded, the light floods in!”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭6‬:‭22‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Making New Stories

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, Teaching, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

On Sunday, a sunny day, my granddaughter and I spread out paper, scissors and ModPodge on a towel. We tore pieces of abstract paintings I loved but had not bought by someone or maybe I’d forgotten I loved them.

We used little strips and squares of color to tell new stories. To allow a new voice to be heard.

How God speaks is another mystery that woke me on Monday in the dark, a nagging lack because of hearing others say “God told me.” or “I heard God speak”.

I’ve not experienced God in an audible way.

I’ve heard stories that blow my mind of people who’ve been in situations in need of hope or redirection and God spoke. I’ve read and heard He “speaks” through His Word, both gently and firmly instructive.

I’ve heard about the still and quiet voice that comes and I believe I understand this one well

Me being quiet with no searching for an answer and a thought comes…

Comes in reply to a question that’s been nagging at me.

Once, that voice whispered in my the hallows of my chest…

“It’s gonna be alright.” and the rightness of every worry in my life felt captured in that comfort of a promise. It was a strong promise. I still treasure it.

I smile over it.

This morning, words came and to sum it all up, the words were

“Just keep learning.”

An encounter with a woman I knew from my executive days planted the seed from which this desire has begun slowly growing.

She noticed my artwork and then as she passed through the crowd to leave, said across the room…

“I just read your story.”

I was confused. How did she read the “Artist Story” I sometimes point to when people ask, “How’d you become an artist?”

Later, I realized she’d only read the sweet story of the “cake with you Mama day”.

And, I realized slowly, I was happy that’s the only story she’d read.

This morning, I thought, sensed the coming together of thoughts and God speaking…

It’s been enough time now, enough time has passed.

The story of how you “came back to painting” no longer needs to include the hard and horrible parts.

You’ve grown to dislike the telling of this story.

Instead, when asked, the answer could be…

I’ve been painting seriously about seven years and I keep growing and trying to make good choices.

I keep learning

And I am a student of that desire to keep learning. I have grown.

I am still growing. And that’s the only requirement that is given to me by myself…to be me as artist, writer, mother, wife, grandmother or friend…follower of Jesus.

To be brave enough

To keep learning.

(It may be time to add a chapter or replace the old one altogether, at least edit it with a pen called kindness.)

It may be time to “turn the page” to the beauty of my story with only a tiny nod to the ugly.

It may be time to stop circling back to the places you struggled, the places you failed and fell.

It may be time to say less.

It may be time to edit your story of whatever you’ve taken on as a measure of you finally not just battling in becoming

But arriving.

Motherhood
Author
Teacher
Settled Career
Wife
Friend
Ministry Leader
Artist
Chef
Athlete

Nurse
Husband
Girlfriend
Boyfriend
Instructor of Others

Retiree simply “being a light”
Aunt
Uncle
Counselor
Advocate

Son

Musician
Sharer of your life with others

Daughter

Student of whatever

You are arriving,

you can take a breath.

The only requirement God has is
A decision to keep learning.

To imperfectly decide

not to give up.

And to do so with love.

“…It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously.”

Micah‬ ‭6‬:‭8‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Curious about my art?

Quiet Confidence Art

Continue and believe,

Eat Cake Today

aging, birthday, contentment, Faith, family, happy, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption

I can recall most of the cakes I’ve baked in my 63 years of life, the number is that small.

I once baked chocolate cupcakes covered in peanut butter sugared up icing.

Chocolate zucchini cake was a hit!

I’ve attempted my mama’s pound cake enough times to know that’s not my skill.

Still, I decided to give a day a name, the Saturday closest to my mama’s birthday and eat cake with friends or family or people I’d make friends with on

Cake With Your Mama Day!

Today’s the day.

I’ll go out to the country to the best little not so secret restaurant called Juniper (in Ridge Spring, SC) and I’ll have lunch and then cake.

I’ll soak in the sweet joy of others who think it’s a good idea too.

Celebrate today over cake with someone you love.

Celebrate the legacy left by someone, anyone today!

Seeing Just Enough

aging, Art, birthday, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, daughters, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

To see more clearly, I must simply gaze more faithfully.

I’ve just completed an application to be an artist vendor at an April event.

I have a list of other places I and my art may “get to be” and one I was selected for and am a day late on the paperwork. I’ve just emailed the coordinator and said a solid silent prayer.

It’s okay if I’m not there. There are other places I should be and you know these, Lord.

I’m of the age I can see far away only with my contacts in and to read I suddenly am learning neither glasses nor contacts are beneficial. I toss them off, they are no help.

I see best up close, reading or painting with simply my naked eye.

I see what is needed to be seen by me, nothing more and only what’s very close.

I see just enough.

My focus is on what is near.

What is now, not in the distant future, not beyond my reach or my vision.

And so, I can give myself grace and permission to simply and quietly do what is mine to do in my “present place”.

“Act faithfully according to thy degree of light, and what God giveth thee to see; and thou shalt see more clearly.” Edward D. Pusey

Walking, listening, with an attentive ear and vision only committed to faithfully see what’s not too far to see, only just in front of me.

“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’m joining other writers today in the Five Minute Friday community, prompted by the word “Far”

five minute Friday

Lightly Yielding

aging, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, fear, hope, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wonder

It’s the time of year that God allows a sprinkling here and there of soft green woven “pillows”. I know there’s a name for them. I can’t remember it. I just find them so pretty. I tiptoe around them, aware of what I see as fragility.

We walked carefully over the tangled vines and fallen branches. Toddler, Henry in his little boots smaller than my hand. I let him venture barely three steps away from me then wrapped him in my arms to be sure he didn’t high tail it to the place his curiosity was calling.

I heard the water, the creek too shielded by overgrowth to see and too uncertain for us to go seeking. So, we just circled round and round, he intent on going deeper in and me, scooping him up to walk where it was more safe and clear.

He resisted yielding again and again.

The unknown and interesting was a steady call to his little investigative mind.

As if to say, I need to know, I need to see, it must be really special, this place I can’t see, these things I don’t yet know.

Yet, it was too risky for us to go, too unsafe for him to go alone.

I wonder why there’s such resistance to yielding. Why I’m so prone to striking out on my own in fits of figure it out or fix it before it’s too late.

When all that’s required, all that’s an absolute undeserved gift,

Is to yield.

This morning, I flipped to today in “Jesus Calling”, a kind and beautifully patient collection of words I’ll carry as I go, one open hand to heaven and the other secretly imagining my hand like a child’s reaching up again to the suggestion of my Savior,

“Hold my hand.”

“As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.”

Continue and believe, lightly yielding.

You are loved.

Tell Me Your Story

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, family, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, love, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

I woke from a crazy vivid dream about being on the brink of my “dream job”. I would be partnering with a wise and super professional in every way woman, to be involved in some way with the Atlanta Braves. I was one final interview from the job and from moving to Atlanta G-A!

Now, I sit in the too cold for Carolina weather wrapped in a blanket and pajamas so thick you’d wonder if there’s a body in there.

In my dream, I was escorted by this close to perfection in appearance writer and coordinator of “human interest” activities for the baseball players.

They liked me, were excited. I was “in”.

My mama was there…I introduced her to “Miss Everything” with “this is Bette”.

There were other parts of the dream that were intensely telling. No surprise, I was lost in Atlanta, it was pouring down rain and I was driving in a panic and in the wrong direction on the interstate that would take me to the interstate back home.

I wanted to go home and I would tell “Miss Everything” by phone if I could find my way back to there.

In my dream, I found all sorts of things in my purse, one was a check I’d forgotten about.

Although the amount was only five figures including the two behind the decimal, it was enough.

There are many parts of my life buried deep, many aspirational paths away from who my life has made me.

There are crazy dangerous can’t find my way in the storm scary roads. There are dark ones. There are exciting ones. There are wounds from of all the wounding.

There are bravery required ones.

And who’s to say how bravery is defined?

What God has decided is your treasure and what your legacy will decide unbeknownst to you…for others to say “this was her treasure”.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭34‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I’ve been reading a variety of memoirs. No secret, I’ve had a long held goal/hope/calling to write my story.

So, I’ve been reading to learn, to learn how the author will engage me in the hard story of their life with an equal measure of softness to get me to the part of it that was redeemed.

There are a handful I’ve shelved.

Call me critical, but I prefer ones the person writes themselves, not a ghost writer.

And books about trauma, abuse or addiction?

Well, there are two I’m grateful I was mature and wise enough to put down early.

I’m sorry to say one was Matthew Perry’s. I couldn’t endure the hardness of him to discover the soft place he eventually found.

I do have favorites and I’ve just downloaded a fourth. I’m not a book critic, so I’ll keep that to myself except to say I was surprised by the authors’ ability to detail their horror without causing fear in me.

This is what I needed, what I believe readers need.

To tell their stories in a way that didn’t cause me harm emotionally. These books are and were gifts. They’ll remain with me.

I see the search that didn’t quit in them to find the quiet treasured pearl in the turmoil and torment of their wounded lives.

Hard to believe, but they found a way to shine.

“I will when I can.” I have pencilled in the back of my Bible. It’s a response to a counselor’s question long ago.

“When do you think you will be able

to write it?”

And my answer, I’ll bravely share…

“When I no longer need to be noticed, when I decide it’s okay to forget.”

This post just got real brave, didn’t it?

My husband woke me from the Atlanta dream saying I’d been “yanking” the blanket.

I stilled myself, smiled in dawn of Thursday and remembered the last bit of the dream.

I found my way home.

My quiet life.

To continue and believe.

“Turn the page, Lisa Anne.” mama

“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭12‬:‭7‬ ‭NIV‬‬

You are loved.

Like a tiny sparrow flitting back across the cold blue sky to its nest.

You are loved.

So am I.

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