This tiny bird is a keepsake from my daughter’s pre-wedding weekend. A small shop in the mountains filled with cute trendy things and I chose a bird as small as the cup of my palm.
A sparrow danced on the porch yesterday. Instead of hurrying my granddaughter outside, I watched through the window as it watched me. It rested on the ledge, turned to face me, and then flew away.
As if to say, remember.
You are seen and known.
You are cared for fully.
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.” Zephaniah 3:17 ESV
Today, my devotional included this verse. It’s a verse you might see on a greeting card, a coffee mug or framed words written in pretty black flowing letters.
It occurred to me, not sure why not before.
God is not small at all.
His voice is mighty.
It calms me and calls me.
It protects me with warnings.
It soothes me with song.
God’s rejoicing over me may cause me to think of beautiful birds.
But, God is not that small at all.
Nor is His presence, love and power.
I pray you remember with me.
God is singing over us and His voice overpowers all other songs, all other voices that threaten or sing worrisome songs.
Look up. Notice God.
He is with you.
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” 2 Corinthians 3:17 ESV
Outside the windows, the sunshine called our names.
Barely 10:00 on a Monday morning and I said, “We forgot to say Good Morning.”
I held her up to the window, the baby almost two, and together we said, “Good Morning, God. Thank you.”
Once outside, she ran ahead through the field and picked tiny yellow scattered all over wildflowers.
About the size of her finger, the pinky one, she gave them to me.
And I thought.
I could see myself living this way, no concern over fashion or makeup, no worry over whether I’m dressed according to trend.
How does a woman over 60 dress anyway? One who loves home most of all?
Silly but serious thought…I could live a simple life.
My food, the occasional PB&J and lots of fruit and for breakfast, cheesy scrambled eggs with bacon. Tomatoes and a little lettuce, crackers, Ritz, a splurge.
I am considering the ease of it all.
I could live this way out in the wildflowers under the cloudless blue sky.
I could seek this, I decided, as she beckoned me this morning, “Hurry, hurry!”
I remember the Paul Simon song that tells the darkness “hello” as he comes to talk to his old friend.
Unintentionally maybe, it sure sounds like prayer. Prayer, in the way the morning sounds soothe me, similar to nighttime solitude.
The Labrador is sprawled out in front of me, his legs lifted up in the air. I don’t disturb him. He’s circled the back yard and been fed and now reclining, a routine.
The ceiling fan whirs above me, the motor, the rhythm of the blades like a chorus of humming.
The birds are harmonious today, not just one or two near the window but gathered someplace in the periphery.
Their song is subtle.
It compels quiet pause.
Later, I’ll lunch with a new friend and attend a funeral.
I’ll listen. I’ll savor the words someone who reads my words without knowing me has to offer.
I’ll be teachable. I won’t see another’s wisdom as criticism.
I will listen to the words that will honor my friend. He was wise. He was kind. Words shared of him will be worth remembering.
I’ll sit a little longer here with plans to read John’s accounts of Jesus healing unlikely people.
I’ll savor the silence that’s not really silence, just a time of gratitude for mercy again this morning.
Mercy that keeps me teachable, makes me open to others and keeps my heart open to good change.
The sound of silence, my old friend.
The atmosphere that conjured morning prayer.
Lord, help me to listen.
I’m linking up with others prompted by the word “savor”
It’s become the norm for me to wake with a lyric or a verse. I know the song and it sets my tone. I open my Bible app and search for the verse if other thoughts don’t get me off course.
The promise of today is bright sunshine and the Labrador returns with the ball jammed into his cheek. I step outside and decide just a couple of tosses. It’s still too cold, early Friday morning.
Fully Known and Loved
He’s satisfied and so am I. I turn to go inside, my feet numb from the cold hard ground and I see the beauty of what seems to be an overnight changing to green.
I find myself wondering if God is aware. Of my waking on a Friday morning after sleeping hard from unacknowledged exhaustion.
Did God know I’d wake up with the words to a song by J.J. Heller, “You Already Know”? (Yes, I adore her.) Did God know I’d be standing barefoot and I’d listen to Him reminding me of the dangers of comparison?
Does God know how many blades of grass surround my feet? Is he aware of every rain drenched fallen camellia? I believe so.
“But even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:30-31 ESV
We are important to God. Courage and trust are the evidence of our embracing this as belief.
Hagar, a pregnant mistress in the Old Testament, used by others to fulfill a longing, felt abandoned, rejected, unnecessary. She longed to escape the bitter condemnation of Sarah. She fled into the wilderness.
God met her there. He pointed out the water she’d been thirsting for.
I wondered this morning if she’d been standing near the flow of water and couldn’t hear it or if she’d become so worried, afraid, confused and maybe angry over how her life’s direction had pointed towards self-destruction, that she couldn’t see the provision of God waiting there.
So, God pointed it out. She was changed by seeing that she’d been seen herself.
“So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me.”” Genesis 16:13 ESV
In a few weeks, a children’s book illustrated and written by me will be available. I may have chances to share its backstory, a story I only recently realized but God already knew.
“Look At The Birds” is a book born of talks with my granddaughter about birds and talks between God and me about worry, worth and trust.
The Birds
It’s a book with a mission of helping children understand their value is determined by Jesus and no one or no place else.
It’s a message God longed for me, the wife, the mother, grandmother, the author, the artist, to begin to finally embrace.
“We will enhance your beauty, encircling you with our golden reins of love. You will be marked with our redeeming grace.” Song of Songs 1:11 TPT
Pink Embrace
I returned to a book in the Bible yesterday, read all eight chapters of the odd one, the complex one I avoided, the one that confused and confuses, the one that felt oddly sexual and therefore, made me feel dirty, caused me to withdraw, decide it didn’t belong.
The timing of the reading was brought on by something unintentional. I’d been scurrying around, doing busy Christmas things, avoiding the onslaught of bad news and stuffing down my frustration over Christmas not being the way it should.
For no real reason I began to wonder how many of us really believe God loves us, not in an occasional way when a song makes it seem so or in the touch of a loved one, the smile of a baby, the surprise of a special gift?
My sister in law gave me a present wrapped in thick paper sprinkled with holly berries. We weren’t supposed to exchange I told her, just the crazy “white elephant” thing, that was the plan.
I looked across the room at her, the distance of the living room rug and she said,
“Your mama told me to get you that.” And our eyes met, both puddled and the room went silent.
Inside a box, a cream colored canister adorned with a “red bird”, a cardinal.
She added, “because of your book.”
Two days later, I’m recalling my waking thoughts. I wondered how often my thoughts of God’s thoughts lean more towards correction, self-loathing, self-condemnation and whether I believe the ugly of me more often than His love.
Whether I believe God thinks these ways of me too.
I wondered again how many of us really believe we are loved, are longed for by God.
“It is you I long for, with no veil between us!” Song of Songs 1:7 TPT
In comparing the two, how much of our thoughts are devoted to measuring up, second guessing our pasts, taking inventory of our wrongs or not yet good enoughs?
What amount of our time and thought is devoted to being embraced by God, truly believing you are loved?
That God is love.
That love fully believed will bring peace, will model, actually exude peace and strength.
The cardinal canister is on my kitchen counter with a little ceramic sparrow resting on top, resembling a knob, a daughter memory.
I’ve decided it will be a vessel for answered prayers and things God causes me to see, I’ll scribble onto strips of paper, leave them there forever as love’s legacy.
Because I didn’t think of it on Saturday, today I’m certain.
My mama knows about the book I’ve written, about to be published, called “Look at The Birds”. It is she who always told me “don’t stress”, not to worry.
Her hands and God’s made me brave, made it possible.
On Saturday, the family who travelled a couple of hours, the ones who felt safe in coming and were able, headed back home.
Me too, traveling the road from my daughter’s and buffeted by the most glorious pink aura.
No one around, country roads empty, I took my time to see clearly, God had been with us and He will continue to be.
He loves us so.
I believe and my believing will lead to peace and strength.
Now, I turn to the words of the Song of Songs, a poetic book of the Bible, an allegory written by Solomon.
“This divine parable penned by Solomon also describes the journey that every longing lover of Jesus will find as his or her very own.” Introduction, Song of Songs, Passion translation.
I find the place I read last week, the words that didn’t make me question, didn’t cause me to shut the book, confused over the passionate tone.
I’m instead, more certain of God’s extravagant love. A tear forms in my eye as I understand love.
My season is coming.
“The one I love calls to me: Arise, my dearest. Hurry, my darling. Come away with me! I have come as you have asked to draw you to my heart and lead you out. For now is the time, my beautiful one. The season has changed, the bondage of your barren winter has ended, and the season of hiding is over and gone. The rains have soaked the earth” Song of Songs 2:10-11 TPT
“But Mary treasured all these things in her heart and often pondered what they meant.” Luke 2:19 TPT
Luke’s description of Mary’s reaction on the night of the birth of Jesus caused me to consider the God who knows me.
The same God who knew Mary, the young woman, a virgin who was visited by an angel and told,
“this is your assignment from God”.
You will give birth to the Savior of the world. You are a player in the miraculous plan of God to make an eternity of peace possible for all.
I’m humbled as I think of the tiny bit of peace giving I could give and yet, tend to be inconsistent, tend to often need more and more grace.
And God continues to give it, continues to understand me.
I sit on the rainy morning in a quiet house, thinking of which direction to go next, asking God to guide my painting back to the place that was His idea.
Asking forgiveness for time spent on comparison, for bitter doubt over unmet expectations.
Where are you feeling vulnerable or maybe you’re not?
Maybe you don’t think so heavily. Or maybe your vulnerability is not shared. That’s okay. God sees and comes near with understanding.
I sit a little longer, let the sounds be my comfort. I open my Bible to read about angels, drawn towards the reality of them. My interest is peaked.
I’m excited again. I may begin to paint angels again and not simply call them women.
God is near. God is doing a new thing in me today, actually continuously.
“Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared in radiant splendor before them, lighting up the field with the blazing glory of God, and the shepherds were terrified! But the angel reassured them, saying, “Don’t be afraid. For I have come to bring you good news, the most joyous news the world has ever heard! And it is for everyone everywhere! For today in Bethlehem a rescuer was born for you. He is the Lord Yahweh, the Messiah. You will recognize him by this miracle sign: You will find a baby wrapped in strips of cloth and lying in a feeding trough!” Then all at once, a vast number of glorious angels appeared, the very armies of heaven! And they all praised God, singing: “Glory to God in the highest realms of heaven! For there is peace and a good hope given to the sons of men.” Luke 2:9-14 TPT
I imagine the sky that ancient evening as blue as coal tinted silvery. I can see the figures, angelic in form and with a beauty translucent. I see Mary cradling the baby she was chosen to deliver.
I sense her awe down deep in my soul and I know the same aching.
I know the awe of being rescued.
Redeemed, given grace towards restoration.
Have you heard about the alignment of the stars predicted next week?
Talk is it may snow here on Christmas Day, here in South Carolina we may get to sit next to windows and be quieted by the rare occurrence of falling snow.
We may be gifted with unexpected beauty.
Quietly now I’ve journaled notes to myself about God and me.
God cares about you. God loves you. God has a purpose for you today. God is orchestrating miraculous unseen things for your good and His glory. God is in control.
God can be trusted.
I think of Mary again, of the way she didn’t fully understand even after her baby boy was born and perhaps even through all His days on earth, she was simply a participant in a life chosen for her that was miraculously complex and simply required trust, acceptance and surrender.
I pray I embrace the ways of Mary, pondering so many things and still believing expectantly.
I pray the same for you.
Sitting longer than I felt I should today and refusing to call myself lazy, I rest a minute more
And then far off the geese approach and I listen to them as they make their presence known.
“Here they come.” I hear my mama and I ponder.
I wonder if the angels told her.
Your daughter needs reminding,
“She is seen and loved and known. God is for her.”
Continue and believe. Christmas came.
Christmas comes.
“For today in Bethlehem a rescuer was born for you. He is the Lord Yahweh, the Messiah.” Luke 2:11 TPT
Someone said we shouldn’t have a bucket list if we believe in Jesus, believe in heaven.
Made sense, the whole reality of the mysterious truth of eternity, incomprehensible, some might say fantastical idea of God’s original plan, perfection.
That was a relief at least for me, me who’s never flown. I don’t possess a passport and have zero income except the occasional art purchase and a tiny retirement check.
In case you’re curious, it’s Italy.
Someone else reminded me of counting my many blessings, naming them one by one, noticing things, noticing God. I can do this again, a practice to revisit.
Treasures
Golden leaves on my headlight lit path
One golden leaf spinning down
A sky sprinkled with stars
A leftover cheese straw wrapped prettily
Watching Elizabeth waking up and talking to her crib friends
Walking together, saying “Hey” to the sunshine and our shadows
Several birds, very small flying upwards into the sky blue sky
Elizabeth sitting all dainty in her chair ringing her little Christmas bell, her smile, pure glee
The sunrise just now and birdsong causing me to go see where they’re nesting
Calming babies holding them close on their first grandparent visit
Listening to adult conversations between children and not adding my two cents, just being enthralled by their wellness, their voices, by them.
Waking up to rain on Thanksgiving and deciding it makes sense, 2020 and all
Stepping out anyway, my eye noticing the puddled up drop on the magenta rose
Clouds like puffs
Finding my children’s baby stuff
Not ruining the steaks or letting the bottoms of the cookies burn
I could go on, the infinite list, none of it “bucket”.
It’s been a while since I’ve written about mercy or grace, about God.
I wonder if I’m qualified at all.
I’ll wait and see and continue to listen.
Continue and believe.
I’m not listless after all.
“You can pass through his open gates with the password of praise. Come right into his presence with thanksgiving. Come bring your thank offering to him and affectionately bless his beautiful name! For the Lord is always good and ready to receive you. He’s so loving that it will amaze you— so kind that it will astound you! And he is famous for his faithfulness toward all. Everyone knows our God can be trusted, for he keeps his promises to every generation!” Psalms 100:4-5 TPT
So, I began again.
I thought of heaven again this morning, thought of the spectacular mystery just like faith, like hope, intangibles.
Invaluable treasures, the list I’m returning to
The smell of sausage in the kitchen
The thrill in the voice of a child over Christmas and drinking from a Santa mug instead of sippy cup
The sound of frenetic keyboard tapping as my son, home all week but a professional, passionate about his work, working.
A gift for no reason, a luxurious blanket that brought security, represented love
My husband’s announcement as he comes down the hall, “another beautiful day”.
Last night the dreams did that filtering thing, bringing all the half processed thoughts to the surface so that morning’s arrival could have a blank slate.
Angry encounters, loneliness amongst others, worry, an almost real sense of illness and a vivid place of being taken advantage of.
I understand the purpose of dreams when they are this threatening, this vulnerability revealing.
What was heavy becomes evidence now of false narrative and a waking up to return to truth.
“I am convinced that any suffering we endure is less than nothing compared to the magnitude of glory that is about to be unveiled within us.” Romans 8:18 TPT
Last weekend my husband and I stole away for a couple of days in a time it seems we’re supposed to be hunkering down, getting ready to fight, a time of yet more uncertain events.
We were among the leaves, the curving hills and valleys, the powerful rush of water, the sound of leaves tousling under our feet and dancing downward.
In the afternoon I sat and rocked alone on the old porch shielded by camellias. The inn was uncrowded because of pandemic.
I simply sat. Several minutes into the comfort of nothingness, I turned to see an oddity.
In the corner of the porch, the shape of a dark bird sat. I turned away and then looked again, still there.
I puzzled over the shape. Had somebody left a carved bird there for sweet decoration, was it one of those country birds people put on a shelf, the legs dangling?
I waited, no hurry to decide what it was.
I began to be sure that it was there just for me. My soul was stilled. The world around me a mess and yet, I am sitting quietly with a simply beautiful view and I’m rocking gently in an old wooden chair.
All was good, was well.
Sunset approached and I quietly decided to see more closely the figure in the corner.
I stepped gingerly and I saw it, a sparrow who allowed my visit and then fluttered away.
I went to tell my husband and to dress for dinner. As we stepped towards the porch I shushed him, maybe we will see it.
And we did. Back in its safe place, we both saw the bird.
“It’s roosting.” my husband said.
Oh.
The bird wasn’t there when we returned after dinner nor on Sunday when we departed.
Only Saturday as I sat resting from hiking and in between a good long call with my son and a FaceTime with my daughter and hers.
I knew it was God.
I know it was His nearness in a visit with a roosting bird.
Now I know roosting is different than nesting as far as the pattern of a bird. Roosting is sitting still, finding a place to rest and returning there for comfort, for safety.
Maybe we roost when we allow our souls to rest in God’s tender but massive hand. Maybe we confidently return to our little place.
“A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord, A wonderful Savior to me; He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, Where rivers of pleasure I see. He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, That shadows a dry, thirsty land; He hideth my life in the depths of His love, And covers me there with His hand, And covers me there with His hand.”
I pray you know God’s nearness today, that the noise of all other is quieted by a view, a song, a sound and that if sleep awakens buried fears, you wake with assurance of being never alone and you rest in the safe place of that knowledge.
I thought of the words to describe myself and two friends last week. I smiled to myself knowing I’d not find these three referenced in my Bible, just an idea maybe of them.
unhurried finds
The words?
Spunk, Dainty and Floundering.
I thought of my friend who goes by “Mel”, of her unwavering devotion to those she loves. I thought of her allegiance to me, although unnecessary. I thought of her sorrow in the aftermath of the untimely death of her husband. I hoped for resilience to remain her strongest quality. I longed to hope she’d rely on the smallest bit of spunk she is known for.
Still, I knew the days ahead would unsteady her. I cried when I told her I couldn’t find the word spunk in my Bible. She listened to me struggling to articulate my lost for words rambling over her loss.
My friend, the merciful one. The one with “spunk”.
Another friend, as gentle as a dove joined me for lunch and we caught up. I shared the decision to publish the children’s book, the journey from looking at birds on walks with my granddaughter to deciding to say “yes” to the commitment for it to become a book.
She listened and faintly smiled, not with excitement, just acknowledging what she knew was significant. I noticed her hands as she listened, diminutive and folded. I thought oh my goodness, she is so dainty.
I wondered later if the word “dainty” could be found in my Bible. I looked and as expected, no mention.
My friend who has much in common with me, an artist, a quiet friend who is longing to see how far life will take her.
She asked me to guess what she’d taken a chance on doing. I gave no answer because she was giddy to tell me.
She told me she’d learned to paddleboard, no idea why, she just decided to try.
I imagine her balanced amongst the other lake people, her petite frame having lots of room on the board but I shook my head and asked, “How on earth did you do it? I guess you must have good balance or strong legs, I could never do it!”
I thought of how I’d always thought of her so dainty, so delicate, not physically strong, more emotionally fit…dainty.
She answered that it is not dependent on your strength or your being able to balance, it is about trusting the board, allowing your body to let the board be in control.
Trust more than skill.
Days ago, I watched my granddaughter pick up and put down her little pink shoe clad feet.
The land that surrounds her home is bordered by paths, some grassy, others a mixture of sand, roots, big rocks and pebbles.
We walk together. I allow her independence with reminders of “careful” or “hold my hand” when her excitement for living causes her to prance ahead and risk tripping on rocks or over her own precious feet.
I bring my hand down to meet her tiny fingers, “Hold grandma’s hand.” I say and she either latches on or with a big girl motion huffs and shoos me away.
I smile. I watch. Soon she turns towards me and finds my hand and then lifts up in a surrender to be carried by me for part of the way.
She is learning independence and accepting assistance, the play of the two.
We walk together. We scamper. We dance. We sing and we gather pretty things, no hurry. No pressure, a rhythm of acceptance, balancing independence and surrender.
Holding accomplishment in one hand and humility in the other.
“Floundering”, the word I assigned to how I’d been feeling, the third word not found in my Bible; yet, the perfect description for my confusion, my unsteady thoughts, my leaning one way and fearing falling or leaning too far the other and tripping over my impatience.
“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed.” Hebrews 12:12-13 ESV
Floundering thoughts, death compromised spunk and resilience, and assumptions about the fragility in our feeble dainty frames.
Each of those telling me, steady yourself, your heart, your trust.
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 