Sweet boy startled for some reason around 8 and began to cry.
Really cry.
Upset.
Grandma tried to let him have the infant resolve to resolve his fear or big emotion.
I caved.
We sat together after the sweetness of a sway that became a firm embrace and he was awake and it seemed thinking until I laid his little body back down.
Sleep continued until 6:13.
He woke happy, ready for the day.
Still dark outside, we walked about the house, down the hall, to the kitchen and with one hand clutching coffee and the other balancing baby, we decided to say good morning to the day.
I walked into the twilight, looked up and said, “Look, Henry, a morning moon just for us.”
Soft peaks of clouds broken and scattered and in the center filtered through the shifting, a very bright little moon.
And I was awed in a sort of tiny way when I thought about the serendipity type occurrence.
Sovereign God knows me so very well.
Knew the baby and I would walk into the dark of a Saturday morning and I would glance up and stand still until my glancing became a soul tending gaze.
Henry mirroring my face towards heaven.
This 31 days of good is I’m afraid not keeping its promise for light and “less, Lisa”.
Still, today very, very early, there was this moon and because I believe in a God who is very near, not at all far away.
My good thing today is the miraculously unable to comprehend, only celebrate.
Sovereignty,
the God who designed the riddle of me, being sovereign over me.
Singing like a whisper.
I painted today, covered over another abstract and just let it be and not be until it told the story I was holding.
“And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5 ESV
Morning Window
A dream kept me trapped for a time last night. Scientists say (I’ve heard) dreams are really just seconds, maybe minutes and yet they feel so very lasting, so lengthy, so binding.
You want to disengage your body from the story your deep sleep mind is telling.
Dreams are intriguing, often troubling.
I find myself mentally inventorying my meals, my television input, the words read before sleep. I search for the reasons for dreams that are scary, always deep.
Last night I dreamt of being in a tiny town where all were being required to be taken away. The ones who returned told stories of fear, told of being entrapped, of being forced to harm others, of being unable to see because of a poison emitted from some unavoidable place.
And I got separated from my group, they never came back and kindness met me in the place in between going or staying and
I woke up.
Shaken by yet another dream I couldn’t see the reason for.
I had chocolate milk before sleep. I watched the Braves lose and hated it because it was my cousin’s husband’s birthday and Atlanta should’ve won for him.
I read Psalms and Proverbs before sleep. The bed was comfy, the room was cool.
And I laid still as the dream slipped from heavy to safe and I said to myself the lyrics of “Rock of Ages”…cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.
Knowing the dream wasn’t so much a nightmare as a vision (please know I’m not assigning any special qualifications to myself…if you know me, you know I’d never do that!).
But, I do know the dream wasn’t about present day, it was about the end days that are coming.
Yes, “end times”.
I will stop here because I don’t talk about things I’m not fully equipped to explain.
I’m a learner. I am learning through the Holy Spirit’s voice spoken uniquely to me.
As to you if you believe.
In the dream, I was kept safe from suffering. I lingered in showing up to the “required sign in”. I didn’t surrender my soul to what these captors required.
And I was left unharmed, a man with a smile comforted me and I woke up.
I can’t begin to explain the supernatural and sovereign ways of God.
I just know what used to scare the s**t out of me, yelled from an angry and judgmental pulpit, now feels like a treasure,
the sweet scent of the nearness of God, the unveiling slowly and steadily revealing the goodness, no greatness of a God who loves me.
God loves me.
God loves you.
Years ago, I wrote about birds and the message continues, in more tangible ways.
I am cared for.
This morning, the mama returned then flitted away once she saw me in the window.
There’s only one tiny bird in this nest I assumed the mama had abandoned.
Now, I hear a tiny sound.
I hear a life beginning.
I pray you see God today, feel him, sense him, know there’s so much more than earth for us.
I pray he surprises you with goodness, with His glory.
Last month, I longed to ask a friend who’s ambivalent about God, even more so about Jesus and certainly skeptical about a spirit longing to be inside her, Holy.
A simple question.
Have you ever considered what your life might look like if you decided to believe in Jesus?
I know it seems a given, but it’s one worth asking every day.
“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” Matthew 6:10 ESV
“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life…”I Thessalonians 4:7
Peace
A slender gentleman, likely in his 80’s, glanced my way and offered me his spot in the checkout line.
Ninety plus degrees outside and I notice his soft sweatshirt hoodie was all the way zipped and baggy around his crisp but loose khakis.
Hardly a wrinkle in his thin face, I noticed as he smiled sweetly and asked again if I’d like his spot in the long line at Publix on senior citizen day.
He began to talk about kindness and how we need a resurgence of it. He moved on to politicians and I did my best to lead him back to kindness, respectfully agreeing with him that misuse of money or promises of wealth made by politicians isn’t what this country needs.
I believe he said what we need and I drifted in thought because I’m not one to engage in a discussion over the next potential President.
I’m not smart that way nor interested in debate.
Lines moved and he moved forward. I left my cart and went to tell him
“We keep our light and peace so that others get a little light when they’re near us.” LT
He smiled and added, “Seeing you blessed me today.” I replied, “and you for me.”
He paused to talk to another cashier, pushed his groceries past the exit to chat and lingered. I found my car and loaded my bags and turned to head home to see him engaged in another chat with a man gathering buggies.
I hoped they weren’t annoyed, the others like me interrupted by the kindness of this gentle man who spoke softly about life.
Who brought light and peace and just a hint of politics wrapped in age and wisdom.
This morning, I’m remembering a conversation about my father, about the longing for him to have lived longer.
Somehow I know God told the man in Publix to notice me, to take a chance on a grocery store conversation.
To gift my afternoon an encounter of peace.
To send an angel dressed in baggy but crisply ironed khakis, a thin face like my daddy’s and the same hair, only gray.
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.
A sign of strength and a nudge to go on confidently, a messenger of sorts, this is what the red bird, the cardinal means to me.
“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.” Luke 12:6 NIV
I opened the drapes to see if there’d be sun today. I had been thinking of the phrase…
You are mindful of me, thinking about how I’m seen and in the thoughts of God.
I watched this woman all dressed and ready for the day, a red jacket like the flash of a cardinal and leopard printed flats just like mine. She navigated the area in front of the hotel and her little terrier from a motorized wheelchair. I noticed her precision in keeping the little dog on the leash.
To think of the intention of rising early, caring for herself and her dog despite limitations humbled me. Tenacity and maybe, I don’t know, a passion for living might be her motivations.
Blessed beyond measure and God being aware of me are two thoughts I’ll carry into my day.
That and the grace of being someone who matters to God, as do you.
We talked about ferns, pansies, mums, babies, children and prayer. I’d waited until past 8 to call, afraid she may not answer.
We talked about sunshine and husbands. We talked about my art and hers and we decided that we would “share a booth” in a “show” this Spring.
I found the obituary earlier.
My cousin, her daughter died unexpectedly 42 years ago.
I walked around with the reality of that all day long and with the question of whether to call, whether it would be something she’d like.
My aunt, I describe her beauty and I always think of Grace, the princess. Her voice is slow and draws gentle circles as she talks about peace, about flowers, about family.
She chooses acceptance, she goes after peace. She knows peace is her friend.
I had a reason to call her. All the pretty pansies and ferns froze over Christmas and the brittle evidence of a hard and unwelcome death were left on my daughter’s porch.
All the brown leaves and blackened blooms would have to be thrown into the woods.
“What should she start over with?” I asked my “Aunt Boo”.
“Ferns and if you can find some that aren’t all stringy and overgrown, some more pansies. If it gets freezing hard and cold, just drape a towel over them and let ‘em stay warm.”
Then she thanked me for calling as if she knew it wasn’t something I knew I was up to.
She told me it helps to talk to me.
Unexpectedly adding the memory of the last time she saw her daughter on New Year’s Day at the convenience store out by Zaxby’s.
And that was all, leaving me wanting to hear more about that day and yet, knowing that knowing more doesn’t make it better.
Knowing rarely brings peace in unknowable things. Instead, an embrace of accepting that thing or things we cannot always understand always does.
Acceptance brings peace.
Knowing more doesn’t make it better.
Today, I’ll look for ferns, asparagus hopefully. The bright green prickly fronds that seem delicate are actually thick and strong.
Feathery and fragile and yet, they endure as long as they have sunlight, water and necessary protection from the frigid cold.
I’ll share my aunt’s advice with my daughter and add it to my treasure trove of her sweet lessons for my living.
Peace, today I shall go in peace. Stay with it.
“The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you;
the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.” Numbers 6:24-26 ESV
I had to slow my steps, intent on only art canvases, make the beeline to the back and hurry on. No eye contact, small talk time, just me and my fast walking.
I needed to halt or bump into a woman with her son. She had a shuffle step that was familiar, I remembered a mama long ago who had an injury leaving one hip higher than the other. So, I thought this might be her and I’d be able to ask how she’s doing along with her now adult son.
Strangely, it wasn’t her, instead a younger version.
Still, our eyes met and she exhaled a big sigh. I asked “Been shopping all day?” And she replied that they’d been in the street since eight o’clock and she’d been takin’ her mama to all her doctors.
I saw her then, saw her loyalty and I added as I walked beside and then ahead of her,
“I remember those days. They are so hard. Get home and find some rest.”
She nodded, thanked me.
I bought eight 8×10 canvases and carried on.
I noticed the line was short at Chick Fil A and I was thirsty. I ordered my little indulgence, kids meal, fruit not fries and tea and answered “Lisa” as the young man calculated my change.
He asked how my day was going and I said “good” as I sensed the awkward in between, the task of giving me change and so I asked “Are you having a good day?”
His deep dark eyes met mine and the rising up of his chunky cheeks in a smile beamed as he happily answered, “Yes, I am.”
I rounded the drive thru line and watched a couple of boys/young men play “rock, paper, scissors” to determine who’d bring my order.
The one who lost sauntered over to my car and chuckled, “I just took your order!”
I smiled back and said that’s so funny because I was about to ask if you had a brother.
Serendipity, sort of, the chance to share kindness again.
Last stop, Publix for collards for tomorrow. Intentional here too, I have a short mental list and on a mission. The soup aisle is running low on chicken broth and my path intersects with a shopper who doesn’t hesitate to look up and say “Hey! How ya’ doing?”
I smile, realizing I don’t know her and she keeps talking and adds “I’m about to cook a big pot of soup for my family!”
“Sounds good!” I go my way and she goes hers until we’re both in the parking lot, cars loaded and I hear “toot toot” from her little SUV and my eyes meet her excitement in getting to wave goodbye to me, someone she doesn’t know.
I’d say it’s just accidental, this thrice encountering kindness from strangers and reciprocating.
But, since I have a thing for things in 3’s, I know it was heavenly, this afternoon of kind conversation and willingness to be seen.
Unknowingly, three people changed the course of my day from sullen to seeking, from deficient in hope to hoping.
Three people, working in community with my Good Father yesterday.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2 ESV
“Running away was not in her character.”, Google provided this definition for character, the word that settled as I’d read in Isaiah about Mary before there was Mary.
The Giver
Just now, I’ve named this windowsill decoration. I’ve been pondering why I love her, why she comes down from the attic every December.
She’s not an angel as angels are known. She has no wings, no halo, no aura. She’s holding a tray with an unadorned cypress and a few red apples.
I see her as one who brings, one who offers and loves.
Quietly
Irregardless and unrelentingly.
Silly me, it’s a ceramic statue.
But, she has no shoes on her feet, the garland of green crowning her head is only leaves and so, I see and
I sort of see me.
Little have I to give in comparison to others if giving is measured by grand or perfect.
Little am I in comparison to many, my gifts to the world pale in comparison.
25th
Last night, in the before bed tidying, I discovered some of the manger scene had gone missing.
The little felted figures, the angel, a wise man, a shepherd and Joseph were nesting like a family of birds in the tree.
I smiled with the discovery.
I’m not sure the reason, perhaps just boredom or longing for something I can’t know.
What the mover of these had in mind for these or for me.
They’ll stay there until packed away for next year and when I look at the intentional redecoration, it’s celebration that I see.
Celebration, not imperfection in my tiny bit tedious decorating this year.
The Manger Tree
How is it I’ve never thought of Mary as a “giver”, one who questioned the reason behind things; but, set her heart on her part in the story, her character in the scene at the manger.
Mary gave.
“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6 ESV
I have a canvas on the easel resting with edit number “several”. I’m envisioning the position of the figure sort of off center.
Now walking away, staring into some mysterious distant place, I see her being reimagined.
I believe she may be a “keeper” to remind me.
A settled soul facing forward, a gift of something fruit or flower cradled at her chest and she may be simply waiting.
She may have the stance of offering not taking.
And I believe I’m sweetly loving the thought of that.
The thought of giving, not expecting, of resting and not resisting.
Of waiting for what’s within me to create what’s meant for me not to be without.
“The Giver” will be the name of the painting.
This morning, by accident I found the words I thought might be in a book about the moon.
“The sun will beam and the moon will glow. The light will stay, little child. God is with you today and tonight. The light will stay, child. The light will stay.” Me (Look at the Moon) (?)
Someone in a prayer group I’m a member of commented, “Pray for me because of this root of bitterness trying to grow.” And the replies understood the concerns, the need for prayer…even urgency.
Because bitterness begins in secret and then the roots grow thick and stronger and threaten us until they take over.
What is bitterness? I could share my list of things that are secret and of things I’ve vented in conversation with others (about others).
Roots destroy fertile ground. Love and peace cannot thrive when bitterness keeps growing.
“Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled;” Hebrews 12:14-15 ESV
More importantly, our roots destroy relationships with others. Bitterness that makes sense only makes us sadder.
Sometimes I look around and see how very different I am and feel from others and I remind myself to bring peace not judgment, love not frustration and a subtle but steady light that points to the source of my joy (even if it’s dim on the days questions, doubt or bitterness crouch at my door.)
When Elizabeth was born, I sang “Deep and Wide” over and over and over. I can’t say why (other than God) I sang it over and over from the first moment I cradled her tiny head in my hands.
With Henry, it’s been “This Little Light of Mine” and like his sister, he doesn’t seem to mind that it’s the same words over and over. I want him to see my light as I want Elizabeth to know the depth of mine and God’s love.
Love one another.
Don’t grow bitter.
Your life has no space for hatred to take over. Only room for joy to grow high enough to create a canopy for all who stand near you.
“Forget not to show love unto strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2 ASV
I’ve never met an angel or have I perhaps, only dimmed and unnoticed by distraction?
I believe I shall notice more gently, silence the bitter banter of all other.
At first, I felt feisty. I felt fearlessly intrigued and the winding, hill and valley narrow dirt road was pretty. I continued and looked to either side in careful glances so as not to slip from the narrow path to a deep crater ditch.
Either side of me, vast open and clearings, fields with little treehouses on stilts for sighting and shooting deer.
No sign of life anywhere.
Then, the drop into the valley followed by a sharp curve and another hill.
Stuck, bogged down and panicked, when I slowed over fear over when will this road be over.
This road Waze instructed.
My destination, a wedding.
My “grandma car” SUV adorned with stickers on the carseat window and Chick Fil A prizes strewn all over. My blue Toyota Highlander was trapped in thick play-doh like clay.
No cell service. No idea what to do. Who might ever find me?
My face began to flush and I prayed and prayed as I turned the wheel right then left then right then reverse then right foot pressed to the floor. My torso rocking in a rhythm that matched. My body and my will with all my heart was pushing.
Then inching, inching, inching.
I had not stopped trying.
I didn’t succumb and I broke free.
Tentatively, not taking for granted the rescue I’d achieved, I drove into the clearer, strewn with pebbles road.
I arrived with gift under my arm as the bride was stepping up into the chapel on her daddy’s arm.
Someone offered me a seat.
A precious wedding it was.
Joy, laughter, love, elegance and simplicity with an aroma of longstanding faith in a family.
I’ve told the story more than necessary.
About this road called Yarborough.
The scariest abandoned road, the adrenaline rush of a woman alone and inept, but rescuing herself.
The arrival.
The union of two precious souls, in a restored and resurrected building,
new again surrounded by unchanging old.
House of God by way of a wretched and dangerous road, a road taken wrongly.
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 