Morning Praise and Mourning

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, Faith, grief, hope, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, wisdom

…that my glory may sing your praise. Psalm 30:12

I paused here.

The psalmist, David, is speaking of himself when he speaks of glory. Our stories of overcoming are what contributes to our glory? I’m on day two of contemplating this.

Last week I used Romans 8:28 as a password then quickly thought oh, you better not do that, you’ll invite trouble or sorrow to solidify the verse…all things work together for good for His glory.

This errant thinking is the thinking of one who sometimes forgets grace, healing, forgiveness and it is a ploy of the enemy of my soul.

I’m remembering now, a helpful self-thought.

Jesus would never talk to you this way, would never stir such fearful, worrisome, dreadful emotions. Be certain.

Twice in the past few days, my words have been few. I typed and deleted, moved pen from the paper, decided a little was enough.

A card with the words “Psalm 23” printed and underneath, “love, Lisa”.

I woke at 2:48 on Sunday night, the mystery of 3:00 a.m. again. My chest was heavy, but sorrowful, not startled.

There was no rapid beat, only a noticeable bearing down.

I was still as I acknowledged all the recent conversations that God was sifting in my sleep, helping me make sense and accept His peace.

I told a friend about a conversation with someone in fresh grief. They asked “How are they?”

I replied, “Well, when I left, I paused in my car, looked forward and saw that my face was lined black with mascara.”

Then I told them I don’t cry easily. This surprised my friends.

On Monday, I searched for a favorite Psalm, one I’d read aloud some years ago, tears not stopping the verses’ promised song, Psalm 30, a psalm of David.

Many are mourning. I’m only an observer touched by the sorrow of others.

I know the promise is true, the one that promises dancing from mourning.

I know it’s a long journey, one of patience with self because of our patient and loving God.

I know that healing comes. Quite often, I require a reminder.

Psalm 30 is that.

For me, maybe you.

“I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up and have not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.

O Lord, you have brought up my soul from Sheol; you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit. Sing praises to the Lord, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.

As for me, I said in my prosperity, “I shall never be moved.” By your favor, O Lord, you made my mountain stand strong; you hid your face; I was dismayed. To you, O Lord, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy: “What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?

Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,

that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭30:1-12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A second friend whose father was a friend and a father figure to me spoke of her grief in this season. I’m no expert on grief, I assure you.

But, she said what felt like truth and comfort and evidence of her patience with herself in her journey. I may not quote her exactly, just the gist of it.

Grief never goes away, our lives just become more full around its center.

Be easy on yourself. God surely is.

Heritage

Abuse Survivor, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, curiousity, daughters, Faith, family, grandchildren, memoir, Redemption, sons, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

There’s comfort in understanding more clearly. There is new perspective found in new knowledge.

I calculated the years of my daddy’s life events one evening. I recalled the information about the grandfather I never met, the details of his murder.

My older brother is good at research. He is skilled in looking into causes of things. He’s intelligent and a seeker of knowledge.

As I read of the circumstances of my father’s father’s death and then his mother’s passing later, I felt a veil lift, a veil that brought empathy, greater understanding.

From my calculations based on my father’s obituary and the details my brother shared,

My daddy was 13 when his daddy was taken from him. He grew into adulthood with his mama and siblings then went to Korea for how long, I don’t know.

He came home from war. Two days later, his mama died of a massive stroke. The grandmother I wish I’d known, along with the grandpa who contributed to the handsome man with the gentle spirit

And at times, tortured soul. No surprise.

I began to think of how life is such a mix of mystery and truth, vague recollections of family dynamics we just gloss over, afraid to look bravely enough at the vulnerability and pain of those we knew and know.

There’s a story buried, deeply concealed under most everyone’s story.

I believe this.

There’s me and three siblings who have raised wise children, children who are resilient even if they’re unclear how come. There are grandchildren who deep within have a yet untapped stream of strength from whence they don’t yet know.

I believe this.

Today, I sit with a sleeping kitten close by. I smile as I think this wouldn’t surprise my mama or daddy, even those long lost grandparents.

I smile because I imagine them wondering what took you so long to accept the truth of you.

The quiet one who is most satisfied quiet, the complex one always hoping someone will understand. The creature much like a cat, letting others near on her own terms.

I imagine my grandmother seeing me making notes and writing in my Bible. I see them all content in their contribution to who I am and who I’m becoming.

I see them happy about the heritage I’m creating for my children and grandchildren, even if messy or often unsure, always unseen, but hopefully remembered, my prayers.

They see, alongside my Father, my secret prayers.

Mystery and truth, I’ve come to believe that’s life,

life as a follower of Jesus who keeps following and life as a human in this wrought with pain world.

In the margin of Deuteronomy’s chapters, I find sketches of women, underlined reminders of being humbled by God.

I find a drawing of a door with the words above it “the secret things belong to the Lord.”(Deuteronomy 29:29)

I see notes to self to “pray big prayers”. I discover a sketch of the earth with my words “In His hands we dwell.”

The book of Deuteronomy, a retelling of the teachings of God by Moses, a reluctant teller of stories, a rescued child chosen by God although he was certain he was unworthy.

I see God in the history, mystery and truth of my family. I pray the same is said in the mystery of me.

“The Lord heard you when you spoke to me, and the Lord said to me, “I have heard what this people said to you. Everything they said was good. Oh, that their hearts would be inclined to fear me and keep all my commands always, so that it might go well with them and their children forever!”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭5:28-29‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Continue and believe.

Overcomers, we are.

A heritage.

“And he brought us out from there, that he might bring us in and give us the land that he swore to give to our fathers.”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭6:23‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Finding Words

bravery, confidence, curiousity, fear, memoir, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Among a crowd of frenetic students changing classes, a presence walked up behind me. I’d found myself caught up in a crowd that made no sense, I was just searching for the hallway to the laundry room in what others said was a nonsensical place.

I lost the landlord, a woman with a snarky pride over her Air BnB that she denied was in disrepair. She scurried through dark hallways and then she wasn’t there. I returned to the place where the others had complained about my clothes left in the dryer. There another led me through the toddler nursery. A cat slipped by my feet and joined in our fast walking. Suddenly, I’m in a room filled with cats and dogs. We pause to confront the property manager who asked “Where the hell did you go?”

I gave no reply. A cat vomited on my foot and the frustrated helper sighed.

I struck out on my own again, ready to gather my laundry next to my chest and begin the long trip back home from this less than idyllic weekend getaway.

That’s when the students were thronged together, they chattered and marched or had heads down persevering.

The man measures his steps to match mine. Asks, “Why the sad face, are you lost?” He comments about the owner, agrees with the rooms being in disrepair. He walks beside me.

I’m hesitant, but turn to see an easy smile, a jawline in need of a shave and a glint of hazel eye.

He points me to the door that leads to the laundry, has my warm clothes in the dryer.

Quickly and cautiously I say, “I gotta hurry, gotta get back to South Carolina.”

He walks on his way.

I gather my laundry and think of describing the encounter with the stranger who showed me the way, of the satisfaction of finding words to fit emotion. In my dream, I wrote a story about the kindness of a stranger.

The kindness that gave me comfort in the finding again of just the right words.

I decided to write here about this dream not as an invitation to interpretation or to cause you to consider how deep or a little crazy I might be. On both I concur. No, I had a dream that made me think of writing as beauty and I woke to think, maybe, just maybe I will write. I haven’t shelved that dream altogether. It’s still a joy.

Finding God

Angels, Art, bravery, contentment, depression, doubt, Faith, mercy, Peace, praise, rest, Teaching, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

I lost my glasses on Monday, the cute ones, the ones a little bolder than my typical tortoise or black. Like most people my age, there are spare pairs everywhere. But, not on Monday.

We drove down the pretty road bordered with deeply rooted trees. Her mama had left a forgotten treat in the mailbox.

So early in the day, my readers must have slipped from my pocket or fell from my lap.

It’s an interesting dependence I now have on them, like a security blanket for a baby.

I catch myself thinking I have a pair like a headband only to pat the top of my head to be sure they’re there and find only hair.

On Monday, I was without them. I warned people I responded to in texts. They were unbothered by my typos.

By the end of the day I was managing just fine. My daughter didn’t find them on the road and I decided, oh well they’re just gone.

I gathered my things in the passenger seat once I was at home. Glanced down in the space between seat and console and saw a strange sight. I decided my husband had left some stuff in my car.

A little glass case, black with faux fancy logo with a pair of readers in the color peridot. I lost them so long ago.

Not as fancy as the blue, but I loved them and missed them.

Why am I writing about finding reading glasses?

It’s the thought that came after, the clarity in a sweet message from God.

About good in God’s time and God’s way, about the way answers come when we accept we don’t know, can’t be in control of everything.

The way God is the very best at the “art of surprising”.

On Tuesday, my granddaughter wanted another treat. It was close to lunchtime and she had a slight runny nose, but would never tell her grandma she was feeling bad.

(Memories of her strong mama here, rarely voicing a need or trouble.)

I let her lay on the floor, not flailing but fussing. Let her let her mood play out, allowed her to reconcile what she wanted with what her person in charge decided was best.

From the kitchen, I heard her whine change to elation.

“I found Gamma’s cross! Grandma, I found Gamma’s cross!”

She ran over and handed me the tiny gold cross, the one Gamma lost months ago and we all searched until we settled on not finding and stopped searching.

I called Gamma. Told her “Guess what?” and quoted our precious granddaughter.

She found the cross.

Under the couch, found when a little toddler tantrum decided to get quiet and lift the fabric of the couch to hide underneath. How she spotted it is really nothing short of a miracle.

No one else would’ve looked there.

Yesterday, we had a sweet day together. The back seat of my car strewn with a used pull-up, tiny books, little cards and juicy cups, and “guess what?”

My fancy blue glasses.

Hmmm, a surprise.

I had a thought yesterday as I listened to the words of a popular song “My Jesus”.

I thought “I don’t feel the nearness of Jesus now.”

I told God that very thing, asked Him to help me see what’s blocking my view or maybe, just to show me it’s okay to not always be searching, rather to wait for his revealing.

Gamma and Grandma both wear crosses, I suppose it’s one of our granddaughter, Elizabeth’s favorite things, our necklaces.

And our bracelets.

Yesterday, she sat in my lap and asked about every charm on my bracelet, the tiny artist palette, the little girl and boy silhouettes, her mommy and her uncle. She spotted the tiny angel, a gift from my husband prior to her birth. She said “That’s like my angel”, an angel her mama’s grandma gave her when she was just a baby.

One charm she skipped over is the circle with the missing charm, a tiny mustard seed enclosed in glass. Lost so long ago, I stopped searching.

When I called Gamma, teary with excitement, she called our granddaughter “my angel” and I agreed.

She added, “Now, let’s wait for her to find your mustard seed!”

“That would be something!” I said.

The sketches on the thin pages of my Bible often overlap with faded color, the Psalms especially.

Choose Today

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, grace, grandchildren, Holy Spirit, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom

After the sleepover, I discovered my granddaughter had placed the little heart in the little hand.

I remember being captivated by my grandmother’s things, wanting to hold them.

Longing to understand their worth, her little trinkets, her jewelry, her talcum powder and Jergen’s cherry lotion.

They were her.

I woke this morning with a few words

“Choose this day, choose life or death.”

I found the passage in the Old Testament, the historical account of Joshua’s life.

The battle of Jericho, the passage telling us to be strong and courageous, God is with us.

And this one, with the last few words you may find in a home, often a gift for newly married.

“And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell.

But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
‭‭Joshua‬ ‭24:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

These are strong exhortations to people in battle, to choose God’s way or the other gods of their history.

For me, they mean simply “choose life” today.

Choose love or fear. Choose trust over doubt. Choose bravery over insecurity.

Choose to not forfeit your day to anxiety or depression over uncontrollable circumstances.

Choose to be light rather than heavy.

To let be what will be with a satisfied spirit.

Grace is enough. The grace you’ve known and the overflow that is promised.

Choose forgiveness over fretting.

…incline your heart to the Lord. Joshua 24:33

The little heart still rests in the hand.

The heart left on my doorstep by my pastor as a love offering in sympathy of my mama’s passing tells me

Love goes on.

I notice my orchid, revived and repotted has tiny tissue paper buds this morning.

Life continues.

Choose today.

Choose to live.

A Calendar

bravery, confidence, Faith, hope, Prayer, rest, wisdom

The 2022 calendar started with a sketch and then replies to the question, God is…?

This led to the thought of the characteristics of a loving and sovereign God, a Father who instills us with His characteristics.

I have an artist website in addition to this blog. https://www.lisaannetindal.me/

The calendar can be purchased here.

I love it.

I have no other way to express this.

The sketches of thoughtful women remembering God and remembering their strength because of His.

It’s a work of my heart first, then my hands.

He keeps His promises. In a time of never or not knowing, I hope you know

God knows.

Jesus Beside Us

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, hope, Peace, Prayer, Trust, Vulnerability

Today’s prompt, 31 days of writing is “equip”.

I think of my education, my experiences and opportunities I pursued bravely or with naivety. I think of little expressions I use to keep myself grounded and at the same time a risk taker. Scripture like all things are possible with God often lead me to think any and everything is worth trying.

But, that leads to half-heartedness or worse, failure because of a lack of knowledge.

Then the decision to stay on the path set for me, the one I know.

Today, I’ll paint thick crosses gilded gold on small canvases to be Christmas ornaments.

I thought of venturing into something new, but crosses are what I know, what I do.

Did I sense God saying “stay simple, Lisa”? Yes, I did. Some call that wisdom, gut feeling, intuition.

I know it’s His Spirit.

A favorite bit of advice I give to friends and family in a new challenge, a scary opportunity for which they doubt their ability is this.

Write “trust” on the place in your palm just below the base of your thumb. Imagine holding hands with Jesus. Imagine his thumb wrapped gently in a loving handhold. Imagine Him beside you.

Trust what you can’t physically feel. Trust that whatever your assignment, God will equip you. Trust that whatever burden or hardship you are carrying, the load is easier when shared.

“Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭11:28-30‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Lord, help us to remember today that it is you who equips us for life. Help us quietly seek you in private and personal ways so that we can imagine the friendship of you, our helper, our strong defender and guide.

Little Things of Mornings

bravery, contentment, daughters, Faith, family, grief, Peace, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

“…His grace will lead you in small things as well as great.” Jean Nicolas Grou

I returned to my September spot this morning. I told myself October would be a reset in my health, holiness and change.

Instead, very little changed simply by changing my morning spot. If anything it sort of stalled everything. No table for coffee, no place to place my Bible except my lap.

The morning sunlight through the blinds was blinding instead of a glorious welcome.

Still, I stubbornly chose to sit in the spot because someone said it helps to change your routine, helps to motivate you to do simple things like choosing a different chair.

Three days before November, I’m back on the sofa, my spot on the end.

I look to my left and am reminded.

This is the place of my peace, of growth, acceptance and connection with Jesus.

I gaze at the empty chair, the one that was weathered yellow when I took it from my mama’s house. Now it’s a soft white and becoming more worn from sitting, less angelic.

It’s a soft place.

I look towards the wall and see the sunlight beams finding my art. I see why I needed to return and move slowly towards November.

The place on the sofa that accepts me as I am and greets me with how far I’ve come.

I’ll reserve my mama’s chair for reading or for a certain toddler to rest her chin on the arm as she takes a break from being a “monkey jumpin’ on the bed”.

I’ll treasure the legacy of the yellow garage sale chair, the one that felt special in my mama’s old home and is even more at rest here.

The tiny Target pillow amongst the others reminding me to “see good in all things”.

See good and walk freely.

“and I shall walk in a wide place, for I have sought your precepts.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭119:45‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Continue and believe.

Keep quietly seeking. You are growing.

What’s Your Calling?

Art, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

“Follow on, and thou shalt never lose track of that light.” Edward B. Pusey, Joy and Strength

I sort of remember the first time I told myself that painting and writing are “my calling”. Several years later, I still question the label that leads to an assessment of whether my work represents such a strong word.

Once I called it my “treasure”, felt that was better. A “gift” may be even easier to accept as the description of what’s more than hobby but less than calling.

“Allow God to cultivate your calling.” Hosanna Wong

I heard these words while walking, having told myself to take a break from podcasts, that I once again had way too many voices in my ear telling me how to finally be at peace with me.

I am prone to quitting a whole thing rather than being patiently selective, giving up rather than testing the waters.

Not finishing things I begin for fear of failure.

The shape of a bird waits on a wood panel. Vibrant colors of green, azure, a little coral brushed boldly to complete the suggested work are only thoughts. Although I’ve painted these before, what if I can’t again?

What if I’ve forgotten how to paint and write?

That would mean what you thought was your calling was wrong all along.

I consider the words of Hosanna Wong again this morning. Like a middle school diagram sentence, I broke apart the words.

Allow – give someone permission to do something Cultivate – to develop a quality or skill Calling – a strong urge towards a particular way of life

Allow God to cultivate your calling.

There is relief here, this freedom from effort, comparison, numbers of followers, readers, collectors and validators of my work…

Of whether it is or ever was “my calling”.

Because, I’m closer now to understanding

my calling is the calling of every single one of us, to let God lead, show us the way, place us in the places we are needed by others, not the esteemed places of what fulfills our needs

recognition, praise or even kind words.

The pressure is off.

I’ll adjust to this new understanding of calling. It may take some time. I may still fear rejection and thus, hesitate in offering my words and paintings.

Or I may settle in, paint and write because I love it and love the way God made me to love doing it.

Of the seven paintings inspired by Psalm 23, a Bible close by as I painted and breaks in between colors to comfort myself in reading, only one has sold.

A tiny one, “All I Need” will be shipped today.

I allowed my Bible to fall open in my lap just now. The margin sketch reminding of words from another day.

“Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.”
‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭33:3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There’s so much I don’t know, don’t fully understand about God’s ways, His love for me, the places He has for me, my words and art to go.

I will follow. I will stay close beside Him. I will find my calling in the listening to His gentle, guiding voice.

I have everything I need.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:2-6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I am learning as I continue and believe.

Such a better calling, to just continue.

Continue and believe.

The Gift

Angels, Art, bravery, curiousity, Faith, hope, memoir, painting, rest, testimony, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

On Sunday, I felt the tone in my voice change to excited, the chance to tell again how it all started, women in redemptive poses, muses of my art.

The story of a new Bible for Christmas, the trend catching on of filling margins with notes, colorful stickers or maybe drawings.

I was reluctant. I remembered warnings of never let your Bible touch the floor, leave it somewhere safe, underline some things and write on little pieces of paper tucked away, the sins you keep sinning.

That’s what you need to remember most, I was raised to think. Keep track of your wrongs, only consider the tiny chance you are worthy of grace.

I was in awe of the mysterious unattainable gift of the Holy Bible for many years.

Gradually, when time alone brought comfort, I began timid sketches of women and stories I could see myself in comparable pain, joy, messes made or willingness to learn.

Willing to come nearer to God.

Brave enough to trust His love.

“And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3:14‬ ‭ESV

I heard love in my voice on Sunday, felt it in the fluttery words lifted into the air as I stood surrounded by my art.

This thing I get to do that leads to stories of a Bible filled with drawings, the word “trust” in dark pen to greet me.

Listening as a passerby stops to say, “This one speaks to me.” I listen and am grateful for the gift of their emotion, their interpretation of the canvas.

Thank you seems insufficient and to add “it means so much” seem like the reply of an amateur, not a “real” artist.

But, I tell them. I tell the ones who see themselves in my art that their purchase, their kind words are a gift.

Because, I mean it and rare is the occasion I say something I don’t mean.

Share your thoughts, words and trust.

You never know what a gift to them it may be.

The gift of you sharing “your Bible”, your life.

Open your Bible, let it speak then speak it through your story.

	Lisa Brittain on Women of Faith
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Women of Faith
	smoker4mom on Women of Faith
	juliedibblewrites on Embracing
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Shine On