I found two feathers walking yesterday and then a third. The first pair were mostly grey and I held tightly to them as I walked. No pockets in my clothes, I held on, clutching them gently. I rounded the corner to the steep hill and decided to drop them, said a prayer of 3 words, “art and writing” and walked on.
Walking on as I decided against more hills, I let my feet take me towards home. I glanced down in the grassy border and spotted the third feather, a white one. Pristine and soft as velvet, I gathered it up. It was pure and undamaged in a way I’d never seen. I walked on home with great wonder over the assurance that my 3 word prayer had been heard.
I added the feather to my collection, cherishing the words of victory and the promises of Jesus.
Shortly after, a friend I hadn’t spoken to in many months called to say she had an opportunity for me to speak to a group of women in October. “Would I pray about it?” she asked. Two thoughts linger, there’s that open door and I am willing, not sure fully able, but willing. A third, October gives me even more time for courage, grace and healing, God’s wise provision.
“All who are victorious will be clothed in white. I will never erase their names from the Book of Life, but I will announce before my Father and his angels that they are mine.” Revelation 3:5 NLT
What we see as too damaged or defeated in our hopes to keep moving forward, God sees as victory for us, a peaceful one.
I pray you keep pursuing this peace or that you seek it if you never have. I pray for you my prayer for me.
Lord, help me keep walking towards you, towards peace. Help me to remember I am yours.
“Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” John 14:5 ESV
Good Morning, God
Last night, this verse kept coming back up in and out of my sleep. I didn’t have it correct though, I thought the “soul at rest”.
“For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” Romans 8:6 ESV
I made a list of ways I try to quiet my soul when I’m troubled or worried. There was a trend; overthinking, overeating, over drinking that glass of wine, over exercising, over scrolling on my phone, over comparing my life to others, over imagining catastrophic things.
I remembered the peace of adding thick paste on tiny canvases and manipulating the shape into crosses.
Remember
There, in the messy place scattered with stop and start paintings and in progress projects, I sat the small crosses aside to rest.
Anything I use to rescue myself becomes so noisy, I can barely hear, sense, remember God’s Spirit in me, much less imagine him holding my left hand with his right.
We add noises, actions, resolutions and solutions to our lives intent on well-intentioned improvements.
We forget we were never expected to nor are we able on our own. The flesh is so weak, but the Spirit so strong and sweetly longing to be stronger.
“It is not He who is far away from us, but we from Him.” Mother Francis Raphael
Not Able on My Own
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” John 14:26-27 ESV
Yesterday, on a fence by the country road, a white dove rested. I paused, but kept driving. I questioned my vision, was it really a dove or was I just hoping?
If I turned back would it still be sitting quietly, would the plump bird with the settled stance be waiting just for me?
How sweet a gift that would be.
Or not?
Later sparrows scattered away from the oak as my steps must’ve startled and a velvet red cardinal danced in a one, two…three trees step.
Bluebirds flew too, in the place on the path that’s most private.
“Blue’s your favorite color, Grandma.” Elizabeth, only 2.
Is God really near or am I just hoping?
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words – And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard – And sore must be the storm – That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land – And on the strangest Sea – Yet – never – in Extremity, It asked a crumb – of me. Emily Dickinson
“Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” John 11:21 ESV
She had been waiting four days.
She kept waiting. Jesus came. Her brother woke up.
Mornings Clarify
My faith has felt shallow lately in the vast place of waiting. I have zero sense of direction naturally. I depend on landmarks like trees and yellow doors on white houses and such.
I find my way by remembering. Crisis of faith is not an accurate assessment, more just a waiting in the unknown to remember.
I’m just waiting for a way forward, a clear answer, a settled decision whether to continue.
It’s not life or death. I’m seeking direction in where my writing life goes, set it on the shelf, write for personal pleasure and growth or to share with others.
I’m wondering why there are so many hoops to jump through and whether I’m up to all the jumping.
I wonder why to write a book I have to first be famous. I wonder why this type question feels taboo.
Overthinking it all? Maybe, likely to be honest.
Peace
I’m okay in the wilderness of desert waiting, just wonder how long I’ll need to linger to know.
How long uncertainty, a loss of intuition, of seeing, sensing, hearing God will evade me.
When Martha wondered what took Jesus so long to see about her brother, I imagine the waiting was heavy. I believe her senses were elevated. She listened for his arrival, she trusted her belief.
But, why didn’t he come sooner, after all Jesus loved her brother she thought.
Her sister, Mary sat at home. Martha set out to understand “why so long”.
I imagine me in the middle of not knowing, of counting on recollection to determine my direction. I’ll listen for a sense of flowing, I’ll walk towards the water rippling clearly, caressing amber stones. I’ll remember then.
This is the way to walk. I’ll remember, by faith that may not make sense to others
Sometimes to myself.
By faith, I walk.
By faith, I’ll find my footing and my steps will be certain then.
By faith, I wait.
Martha
Soon, my Savior will respond. I’ll see which way to go and understand whether the dream will die or be resurrected.
Continue and believe.
Yes, Lord; I believe…John 11:27
We wait for what we believe,
For what believes fully in us.
We find our footing, sense a certain direction and we breathe steady instead of shallow breaths.
A ladybug landed next to my boot camp exercise mat. The heavy bar for chest lifts and the wayward yoga ball were waiting for the next series of reps.
I should’ve stayed home.
I should have skipped this class. Vague queasiness threatens as I move from crunches to cardio. I feel my neck tighten and I fear the later headache.
Slowly, then kindly to myself I say, “Breathe, breathe.” The little ladybug still sitting near as I speak kindly again, “Breathe again, slowly and intentionally. Soon you will see, the fearful feelings are fading. You will see. It is good to be here.”
Isolation never suggests we challenge ourselves.
Isolation loves the lingering in the same place, same way of being. We convince ourselves it’s the safe place, even the stoic choice more than seeing it as a settled stagnation.
We fear change.
We stay.
Early yesterday, the rain began with a whoosh of wave, heavy early as I woke, no need for my alarm for an 8:00 meeting for breakfast.
In a very gentle way, God has been telling me to be with others, to step back into life, towards even greater healing and to love others, unafraid.
It began with breakfast on Thursday and again on Friday. Later today, a third time to be with a friend among other women, lots of them.
I’m not naturally social. Still, I knew I’d been becoming way too alone.
Even for me.
It was God who told me to be with others again, to embrace what is theirs to give, to give some parts of myself in exchange.
I feel God beside me.
On my left wrist I’ve been marking a Sharpie’d cross, I sense a strong hand holding, a with-ness as I go, a never letting go.
I sense God with me as I go although I don’t know quite where I am going or how my going will change me.
I sense a rising up in my soul, to greet the greater things, leave the lesser things already learned behind.
There is more. There are greater things.
I believe.
Thank you for helping me, God, for being my helper.
Thank you, Lord.
My resistance to a life lived fully has lessened. The moving from isolation is an invitation I’m responding to, a sweet and invigorating choice.
Now, the Saturday sunshine dances on the weave of my blanket. There’s an energy uplifting.
A dance that says “join me”, it’s safe to step in.
Life’s a dance, right? At least according to Garth Brooks
Learn as you go, just please keep going.
“fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 ESV
“Let them come to me for refuge; let them make peace with me, yes…” Isaiah 27:5 NIV
This morning I wrote three pages worth of notes without lifting my pen. This practice, “morning pages” is something I’d heard about and thought maybe.
I am often stubborn as a student, slow to be trained by the wisdom of others.
I’m learning.
Yesterday, the entire third page chronicled grace, the preceding two were questions of self and God.
Today, I expressed my confusion over my cat, “Georgia” suddenly and frantically obsessed with the water in my painting jars.
I tracked her movement as my pen moved swiftly blue. Committed to this morning pages practice, day two, I found a lightness in my thinking, a sweetness in allowing the freedom to write about my “just fine Georgia” cat.
She’s frantic and sneaky, moaning in her meowing to get my attention. I wonder if she knocked over the jar on my desk and drank the blue muddied water.
I continued to examine the meaning behind her behavior and transitioned to make it relatable to mine.
Unsettled seeking it seems we have in common. We have a frantic inquisitive nature and little patience with lingering question, longing for fulfillment.
I’d become apathetic about writing. Ambivalent, not just yet because I’ve not lost my love for creativity, just wondering if I’m still able.
Page three of three today asked God about delay, delay in the question I keep asking that remains unanswered.
The more I asked the question in all sorts of way, I began to feel attended to, I began to be okay with not yet knowing, instead continuing while waiting.
I settled down and ended page three wishing there were space for more.
Resting.
Pages lined with swirly words and Georgia settles. Help me to settle, God. Resting. Confident in your ability meeting my willingness.
Day 2, morning pages complete. Writing more like process than performance.
When I think of David, I think he seems to have lived a life marked by thinking one way or the other. He was either desperate or joyous, defeated by his own sins or bravely standing on God’s character and promises for him, for us too.
Honest, David was honest.
“In you, O Lord, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me! Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily! Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me!” Psalm 31:1-2 ESV
What are the thoughts you think about yourself, your value, your image, your light meant to be shared with others?
Are the things people say of you consistent with the things you think and say of yourself?
“You will look to Him for gladness and refreshment when depressed, for moderation and recollection when in good spirits, and you will find that He will never leave you to want.” Francois De La Fenelon (1651-1715), Joy and Strength
Last night, I dreamt of drowning.
I heard myself catching my breath as I came up from the deep, a frantic exhale. I found my soft heavy blanket. I let it rest over my torso and I processed the possibility that I’ve been pulled downward again by the unanswered questions of my past, the agony of being unable to piece it all together peacefully.
I’m not able on my own I’m reminded.
“I’m not sleeping lately.” I told my husband. “Did I wake you?” “No.”, he answered.
“Good.” I added, thinking there’s no need to trouble him with the dream of drowning.
Instead, carry on with the new day.
As I fed the cat my eyes went to the calendar and the verse I found fitting for January.
The theme is courage.
I sat with coffee, lit my candle although it was morning and secretly asked God to come and find me again.
Turned to January 21st in my devotional. There again, the verse about courage.
“Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.” Psalm 31:24 KJV
I recorded three thoughts and let them lead me to process my worry, my concern over who I am, who I was, who I’m becoming.
I’m not who people think I am. I’m fragile. I’mfaltering. I doubt the promises of Godquite often and I exhaust myself with worrying.
Then, God brought reply.
Same type replies he gave the ancient souls like David and Francois when they found themselves despairing.
You’re not who you were and perhaps rarely who people say you are, but you are fully known and loved.
I am who Jesus says I am.
Three self-reflective questions led to honest self-assessment and the possibility of a different perspective according to Jesus.
Could it be the deepest place of questions can answer the longings you feel are best kept to yourself?
“In mercy you have seen my troubles, and you have cared for me; even during this crisis in my soul I will be radiant with joy, filled with praise for your love and mercy. You have kept me from being conquered by my enemy; you broke open the way to bring me to freedom, into a beautiful, broad place.” Psalms 31:7-8 TPT
Possibly, we’re all one or the other quite often. We sense ourselves falling into questions and despair. We stay there longer than we’d hope. We acknowledge our position.
We’re brave like David.
We ask for help.
Continue and believe.
Take courage, the ceaseless gracious hand of God, take courage.
Like a teenage girl twirling the tiny ring of promise on her slender finger, we wait anxiously, hopefully, and faithfully.
We keep waiting.
“When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought me joy.” Psalms 94:19 NIV
Between question and answer there is a void, a great abysmal place bordered by anxiety and affirmation.
The tension between doubt and deliverance is the required dwelling place for far longer than we would choose.
It’s our tolerance of the inner turmoil, of the unanswered plea and it is our posture that secretly and with subtlety, changes our course.
We wallow in the waiting or we wistfully wonder just how we will be changed, more wise, experiential difference makers in the telling of our waiting stories to others.
That’s what faith is for.
For changes in us that are best for us
And for others.
Necessary and best because God promises it to be so and His promises are kept even when it seems not so.
There can be joy.
We can choose it as our in the waiting posture.
“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.” Habakkuk 3:17-18 ESV
Like a promise ring on the left hand of a teenage girl, we know our future is marked by a commitment of love that will grow.
The love of our Father through Jesus for us.
So, we sit with our notes, our bullet list prayers and gratitudes and we mark our places in the place of waiting.
Maybe we turn our left hand to rest in our lap and with ink mark our wrist with a delicate cross, underneath it we write, “Believe”.
We wait with hope.
And when hope is not met by what we hoped for, we still have faith.
Because of the unseen things to come, we have faith.
We journey on.
We wait willingly.
His mercies fail not. He gives more and more grace.
Story one in the series of “Weak Made Strong” monthly blogs
Recently, I heard someone speak of the “Strengths Finder” assessment and I remember years ago taking the test, being given the guide book to better understanding your strengths and making changes to make your weaknesses less weak.
I can’t recall my scores, but I began to think of attributes of mine that I considered weaknesses.
Naturally, I made a list. Just as quickly, I countered each trait with a contrast, a different view.
Sensitive, too transparent and “in my head” became empathetic, authentic and contemplative.
I reframed my barriers to the real life evidence of my tools. I rethought the hardships life had caused me to be avenues towards resilient strength.
Esther was orphaned by both parents and raised by a cousin. She found herself amongst a bevy of beauties competing to be chosen. She was a listener and an observer. She paid attention. She recognized that courage often cannot often be delayed.
I think of the well known verse,
“…Who knows if perhaps you were made queen for just such a time as this?”” Esther 4:14 NLT
A verse that’s prompted many of us to be brave, be wise, be responsive because we believe whatever circumstance that is calling forth our bravery
We were chosen for it.
And that acceptance of whatever brave thing it is, is strength.
Is weakness moving towards strength.
I am far from a theologian, even less a historian. I simply love reading the stories of women who had lots to overcome or lots to move beyond. I rarely expound on the interpretation of scripture. I’m not wise enough, but I sure do love seeing myself in others.
Women who had weaknesses, but became strong.
What holds you back?
For me, it’s age.
I decide I’m not “on my mental game” enough to be the things God keeps telling me not to pack away. So, I keep them close, I don’t give up. However, I am very slow to try again.
What can you resume or bravely begin that you’ve convinced yourself it’s not yours to do, you’re just too weak, too old, too unskilled
too ___________.
I hope you’ll follow me here for a new story of a woman in the Bible each month.
After a very long time, I pulled the stubby stems from the dirt. The four times or more repotted “lipstick plant” was not thriving.
The plant sent by my fellow choir members at the time of my mother’s death. Inside, then outside, repotted and revived, try and tried again until it was decidedly time to let it go.
The forest like ferns in the window box were just there, not thriving either. My master gardener cousin suggested them and I liked that she called them “Fall ferns.” To me they looked like a walk in the woods, a reminder of creeks and pine trees.
My husband’s recent hospitalization (he’s greatly improved) reminded me not then, but yesterday, I’m good at operating on auto-pilot.
I’m skilled at begin subtly hyper-vigilant, of draping myself in sort of an emotional bubble wrap.
And praying throughout it all, praying believing in the power of prayer and the nearness of God,
Until I’m not.
Until I remember, “this feels like that”.
While I believe in my healing because of my faith in Jesus, the physicality of past trauma and memories are remnants and threads in my tapestry. I’d love to believe I’ll one day not be affected, but I’m more hopeful in knowing my hopefulness in this regard is real progress.
Is peace, is going forward in peace.
Again.
Still, conversations about options for life, long days hoping for turnarounds, ICU waiting rooms with siblings taking turns to visit and calls with the announcement “gone” are realities I have experienced.
No wonder it all came back to knock me off my feet when I quit trudging forward in a fog, when I finally slowed down.
Grief catches up. Trauma is skillful in its tactics.
It’s best that we not avoid it, rather go down the road again and again to the place where the view is more clear, better, an invitation to known peace and comfort.
Allowing the intellectual revelation that my life has been affected by trauma and loss, I have an understanding of the fallout rather than falling apart because of it.
I am in tune with myself.
I can grieve what happened back then in a way that brings a tender resurgence of sadness, but not one that destroys me.
Because I know Jesus told many “to go in peace because you’re now well, you are healed”, but the brain often rebels.
I’m not a clinician.
I believe understanding leads to disciplined healing and I don’t think remembering our hard things is always detrimental. I believe it leads to both understanding and to gratitude for who we are now
Despite what happened then.
Remember my mama’s broken pot with the miraculously spreading succulents from her funeral?
Well, they withered like an old flattened tire. The December frost took them. I brought the pot inside, too late, maybe.
I ran my fingers across the soil and tried to help the plants perk up.
Just one tiny plant like a miniature palm is standing. I’ll wait before adding more. I’ll hope more will rejuvenate on their own, find the nourishment to keep on.
The window box ferns are limelight green in the terra cotta pot. They’re happier on the porch in new soil. They must love the chance to grow in the place where death was accepted to invite new flowering.
Life continues. Life reminds.
New days bring new acceptances of our responses that hinder our acceptance of hardship or hope and invite us to know which are best.
To be brave enough to know ourselves and even braver to invite a new perspective.
Or not so new, just remembered.
Redeeming our days, because we’ve been redeemed.
Knowing ourselves in light of knowing the God who knows even more deeply and says I’m with you here, I was with you there.
Go in peace, daughter.
Go in peace.
Be gentle with yourself. Keep growing.
“For you shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” Isaiah 55:12 ESV
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 