A sentence in my post about “Listening” that was all jumbled up sounding like wisdom but really only just a pretty forming of a sentence.
I answered her.
After rereading the blog post over again.
I’m not sure what I meant…
some sort of metaphor about editing a painting and redeeming the mess(es) you make because you rushed ahead or you were led to doubt because of comparison.
Maybe redemption over our mistakes as well as our challenges comes when we are brave in our approach to life in general.
Acknowledgement of God
When I scurry out to my daughter’s porch to see the morning, I say “Let’s tell God, Good Morning!”
The grandchildren listen, go along, unbeknownst to them, a seed (even if silly in memory) will pop up for them on occasion, maybe as adults, maybe today.
Today, I woke up and thought of bravery, a good thing.
This old dictionary I like says bravery is “the quality of being brave; fearlessness…magnificence.”
Magnificence seemed odd.
I flipped to the “M’s” to see that magnificence is another word for splendor.
Bravery, less than and at the same time so much more than a jaw-clenching choice, a splendid way of living, an opportunity to really believe this life you’re living,
have been given is splendid.
Bravery is accepting slow progress as better than rushing an outcome based on others around you. To be brave is to decide the acknowledgement you need comes every morning when you open your eyes to find the morning.
Bravery is knowing yourself, body and soul, good and not so great and choosing what helps you maintain it over what threatens to wear it down.
Saying no to that second glass of red wine, so pretty in the settling down evening place, end of the day.
Bravery is not having the chocolate pudding topped with salty pecans in your daughter’s pantry…adding crumbled cookies atop a peak of whipped cream.
Bravery is knowing that this innocent indulgence felt like rebellion and subtle self-destruction and that it may not feel the same for others; but, for you it was something other than a treat.
Bravery is attentiveness to the nudge from God’s Spirit inside you that says
“You’re getting too close to the edge, be careful, be still…don’t go on without me.”
Bravery is conversations with others in which you speak your peace and truth, not turn your cheek, close your mouth with just a timid nod, “It’s okay.”
Bravery is delaying good for better.
Bravery is expressing a tender observation to someone you love, knowing they need to hear it. Most often, I’m learning, this is to the adults I cherish, my children.
Bravery is saying,
“I love you.”
And bravery is believing in God, the Creator who chose to give up His Son, Jesus so that we’d spend eternity in what Eden was supposed to be.
Bravery is asking yourself (and others if you have opportunity)
Why are you afraid to believe?
“God always makes his grace visible in Christ, who includes us as partners of his endless triumph. Through our yielded lives he spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of God everywhere we go.” 2 Corinthians 2:14 TPT
Bravery is telling your redemption story, often rambling and more often grammatically errant.
It’s helps that it’s catchy, the wise words for remembering.
Listen, Lisa
Works I Love
I stepped lightly to assess where I may have gone wrong, rushed to edit, didn’t leave “well enough for now and maybe always” alone.
Now, I see.
I should’ve listened to that pull, the voice that said.
This is you.
This is good. Let it rest. Let it be.
There’s no need for a rush to redo. There is no expectation for anything other than that you listened.
Listened attentively.
Listened with no plan of action or scheme.
Listened for the opening that never comes like a bursting, more like an invitation.
Listen and learn.
Contribute to the redemption of where your listen wasn’t necessary at all or steered you wrong.
Remembering, you can’t hear the gentle tone of directions spoken if you’re thinking you got it on your own.
Listen and then, welcome your role in the redemption that made a mess and muddied your message.
Always a good one, led by patience and surrender.
“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” Isaiah 64:4 ESV
There wasn’t time for a deeper conversation. There wasn’t the space nor would the talk about the state of my heart, my mind have been able to find space in all the other chatter.
Someone I love and who loves me and is wise, told me later on the phone…
“You looked so tired that day.”
And I did my best to decide whether to say that I was in fact tired, to share with her all the reasons of how I had just been pushing through
or to wait and see if her observation may have invited
a more beautiful conversation.
If she might have time to listen, if I might be brave to clarify. If she might be courageous enough to share her own heart.
Being honest is risky.
I try to recall that day. Was I exhausted or was I just me at 63?
Likely a combination.
But, wouldn’t it be beneficial in a loving way, I thought if she’d have said,
“How’s your soul, what’s on your mind, what’s causing you to feel unwell, what’s brewing underneath that’s about to boil over and you’re trying to keep it under wraps?”
“What’s the thing under the thing”
Then, I would have sensed an offer of hope.
This morning, before I threw off the covers, responded blurry eyed to a ding on my phone, I thought of this longing…to be seen,
to have a sweet conversation about why she thought I “looked so tired”.
I thought of Martha.
I thought of what Jesus told her and how women especially, decide even if in secret, “Mary was his favorite.”
And we know that Jesus was simple telling her to see her sister’s choice to rest as a better choice and still, I wonder…
Could he have elaborated, could he have spoken with more clarity and could Martha have used different language?
“And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” Luke 10:40 ESV
Could Martha have been more vulnerable?
Could she have simply asked the question that prompted warm tears on my cheeks today?
“Jesus, do you see me?”
We likely don’t know the entire conversation, Jesus beckoning her from the kitchen to sit beside her sister.
What if what he meant was simply…you seem so tired, I know your gifts are serving, working, preparing and fixing…
So, come and rest with your sister and I and if you’d like to tell me more I’ll listen.
Many beautiful conversations have been had with the one who pointed out what she saw as my exhaustion.
I know she sees and saw me.
We’ll talk about it soon.
So, today’s good thing?
Being seen.
Who can I truly see today and in an honest exchange allow them to truly see me and then in a conversation that offers hope.
My talents as a cook are hit or miss. I’m not a follower of recipes and so, sometimes what I think might be a good combination is actually not.
My husband will comment, “That was good, can you remember how you made it?”
I smile to myself, knowing only a few dishes are close to guaranteed goodness.
Spaghetti is one, quiche another.
Spinach and Sausage Quiche
Warm and cheesy.
Delicious before I begin today’s list of promised art things, some a tiny bit anxiety causing.
You can do hard things, Lisa.
It’s gonna be alright. You just enjoyed breakfast with extra cheesy creamy goodness and allowed yourself the nutrition, the comfort. You’re not consumed by your consumption.
You’re gonna be alright.
In quietness and confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15 NLT
(Today is processing calendar orders day. You can visit my website and click on the “Smaller Things” page to order one or a few and their on sale through October.)
Most of my life I’ve been nurtured by the pencil in hand, a piece of paper, a margin that invites.
Art sustains me.
A wise Dr. and author, Curt Thompson reminds often of attachment that we as children needed to be “seen, safe, soothed and secure” and that need is innate. We will always be in pursuit.
Embraced By Grace
Interestingly, adding color to paper and hinting at an emotion are when I feel these needs are known most and met.
How about you?
Is it art?
Music?
Prayer?
or something else.
I hope you know this “withness with God” often.
You are loved.
Even if the child in you lacked one of the “s”’s.
She’s still there, self-aware, surrendered and seeking solace in the sweet places she’s found herself
She walked poised and steady in the center of the corridor. She must’ve been done with the testing.
I sat in the in between solo waiting space with just one chair. I heard her steps, anticipated my name being called.
Instead, her eyes met mine.
“Good Morning”, she told me and and I answered her in the same greeting.
She smiled.
Smiled and kept walking.
Carried on.
And I remembered a word that came in reply on a quiet walking prayer.
“It’s gonna be alright.”
The promise, very same promise as this morning in the confident smile of a woman in a corridor, a place for tests.
It’s gonna be alright.
😊
“Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.” Proverbs 31:25-26 ESV
I had a dream that felt sort of silly. The blip of remembering was simple, I looked in the mirror and saw myself having a day of “good hair”.
My hair is super thin and greying. My hair and I have always had an unhappy relationship.
What an odd dream, likely birthed from two conversations.
The first, a fun exchange, the second an honest answer.
I arrived early for my appointment with the doctor. I had my information and privacy forms completed in advance. The receptionist sort of celebrated that and smiled.
“I need an insurance card and her I.D.” she added. I provided both and she said…
“Tell her to have a seat and we’ll call in a few minutes.” One last question,
“Does she have an emergency contact, is it you?”
I answered yes and sat back down.
In a minute or two, I went back to the counter and in a sort of hushed tone I said…
“I’m Lisa.” And she was clearly puzzled.
I added quietly still, “You said “she” and “her” and I’m just curious why…is this a new protocol?”
And then to my surprise, she raised her eyebrows and mouthed an “Oh”.
She didn’t think I was the patient, she did not think I was 63 years old.
We both smiled and continued to chat about age and wrinkles and I told her so excitedly, she had “made my day”.
To know that I had been seen in a different way was the sweetest thing.
The kindest conversation.
Not like one that questions your age in a flattering way; no, one with sincere surprise that I was the patient, not the companion to an elderly parent.
“Lisa” they called and I was escorted to the scales. I slipped my shoes off, had to step off and on twice, the nurse said the scales were “being difficult”.
Mismatch Socks
I acknowledged the seemingly unchangeable number was the same at home and casually said, “Good to know.”
And I had my check-up, scheduled another and went on with my day.
I bought a new bathing suit, one size smaller but seemed it may fit, lined in lavender and covered with painterly abstract flowers.
It was a bargain, really pretty.
Bought groceries, caught up with a friend and her husband who are grandparents to their second, a two-week old.
Then home to cook supper.
Decided to ask my husband a question, a sort of curiously brave wondering.
Not sure why, he’s super late to the game and needed a little education, but he decided to create a Facebook profile.
Now, he’s all in.
I warned him, it’ll draw you in. It seems he’s reviewed as far back as a few years ago, all of my posts, all of my content.
No worries, he’s often read this blog and he knows I can be a little deep, sometimes pitiful and I hope, always honest.
He mentioned a particular post of him recording a little song for one of our granddaughters on her little karaoke toy.
It was sweet. It was a few years ago.
Knowing he was familiar with my Facebook presence, I asked
“I post a lot about my faith, my struggles, my hopes, my learning to trust…The things I post are mostly about faith.
When you read those things, do you say to yourself, they don’t know the real Lisa, or she’s not really that way?”
Brave, right?
He answered, “No, not at all. It’s good that you’re that way. It’s good.”
Grace, right?
Just last night, I complained about something trivial and apologized for being “hateful” right away.
And last week, I came clean about my in general self-centeredness. The me that had become miserable and often, mean.
I’m learning to catch it quickly, see it for what it is, the enemy trying to taint the essence of me so that my light is too dim for others to see,
my story fading back to grim rather than walking towards the brilliance of light and living water worth sharing.
Healing from old mindsets is not a snap of the finger,
(I hope you know that)
It is a choice to choose the work of being a participant in healing, not a parader of our trauma as a reason to be hopeless or an excuse to be hateful, the darker side of you enveloping you.
A meal, a sort of gesture
When I bought groceries on the day my age was mistaken, I had in mind a gesture.
I cooked a meal for my daughter’s family, the meal (one of them) my mama was famous for.
My grandson and I sampled it.
It was lovely.
It was a small thing.
It came from that reservoir of grace God placed in my soul, the bubbling brook of mercy I don’t deserve, and the meandering path of my beautiful inheritance through salvation that I sometimes veer from because I get caught up in the before of me rather than the moment, the day.
And I find myself by the slightest ugly little pull, questioning the details of my life and I focus on what I don’t want to accept, the dark days of me and I’m prone to plop down in that dark dank place of not remembering good, only horrific
until I pray and count the gifts of today.
And I walk in the light, the place where my story, the lightness of it may give a little light to others on my way. And I notice and cherish unexpected light that came my way.
I felt old, a stranger blessed my day.
I felt hopelessly overweight, I was met by my own acceptance and a bathing suit that fit.
I felt ashamed of my self-centeredness. I apologized quickly and I cooked a meal with a nine-month old playing “drums” with a spoon at my feet.
All of my life, I have been loved.
I’ve often slipped and come close to falling.
I’ve been kept.
This is my story.
“The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand.” Psalm 121:5 ESV
With a tiny bit of trepidation and the need to refresh my memory, I’ve just searched to find a short devotion I submitted for publication that was rejected.
I often am met with puzzled expressions or worse, a squinty eyed and wrinkled forehead over the things I say, the things I think.
I responded to a poll by an author who is studying brain science, how the science of the brain is effected by relational trauma.
I typed…
“I’d love to know if memories of trauma can ever completely go away?”
Once, in a conversation with a clinician friend who is an expert in all things amygdala related, I proposed
One day, what if one day, scientists discover how to surgically remove traumatic memories from the brain?
My friend looked at me, knowing I was serious and it seemed, she was deeply moved by such an imaginative hope.
I realize I’m sometimes too much for some people.
I reread my submitted devotion, maybe too heavy or even “far fetched” over the possibility that Jesus might have a mind like mine. Or maybe, the tone was wrong, less than perfect grammar or perhaps, it was not a fit for a book of 40 days to a stronger, more courageous mind I suppose.
Rejection doesn’t bother me as much as before. I love writing. I’m owning my voice, honesty and all.
So here’s what I wrote:
A Mind Like Mine, Is it Possible?
Lisa Anne Tindal
Key Verse: “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV
Countless days I have felt the unwelcome weight on my chest, the creeping up of vice-like unrest brought on by my thoughts.The recurring nuisance of anxiety for no reason that feels like entrapment.
I pause and question the cause. I say private prayers, take long walks and do something creative with my hands. I clean. I rearrange shelves or entire rooms. I do some stretches. I put my legs against the wall and my hands on my chest.
I remind myself of the most important, although not instantaneous response.
I remind myself that my loving Father would never desire or cause me to feel this way. I recall the promise in II Timothy, written by Paul, a prisoner awaiting execution. I say to myself, “This feeling is not from God.”.
“…for God gave us not a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control.” II Timothy 1:7 ESV
I also remind myself of Paul’s words that assert we are able to understand our Father God because we have the mind of Christ. Our minds are changed, comforted, informed by the Holy Spirit in us when we accept Jesus as our Savior.
“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV
The thought of having the mind of Christ captivates me and stirs curiosity over the characteristics that would define such a mind.
So, I created a poll on Instagram, added a little note saying “doin’ some research”. I asked my followers to give me a word to describe the mind of Jesus. There was nary an answer, lots of hearts and likes, but no participation in the poll.
Could it be the question was beyond actually believing that our minds could be “Jesus-like”?
Just last week, questions over a decision prompted questions of God.
“Why the resistance to your call on my life?”
“Have I ever felt that I knew your will without question, or have I spent my whole life making iffy choices that you’ve redeemed?”
“What is your will for me God?” I opened my Bible to search for a verse in Micah. Instead, my eyes met a sketch I’d created on the pages of Joshua.
A woman with a posture of listening and my handwriting reminding, “Incline your heart to the Lord.” ( Joshua 24:23 ESV) and boldly circled verses with the words,sincerity, faithfulness.
Sincerity and faithfulness,
I would insert in the IG poll because I have known my Savior to be sincere in His faithfulness to me.
I wonder how my fear, anxiety and resistance might fade if I dared to believe that because I have the mind of Christ, with humble grace I could say in time, “His mind is like mine.”
What a beautiful thought worth embracing.
I can be sincere, and I can choose faithfulness. My mind can be without torment.
My mind can be changed by my heart’s position. My mind can be gently faithful and with sincerity, become more content, less shaken.
Confidently, “more me”.
A Prayer:
Lord, you understand our minds unrelentingly. You lead us to be questioners in your Will. You answer. You calm. You strengthen our minds. You help us see ourselves from your perspective. You help our minds to connect with our hearts and to be still, to know what is good, acceptable and perfect according to you.Incline us to your heart, Lord. We will trust that our minds will follow.
I’m not sure I’m a devotion writer. I’m not sure about writing at all. I’m only sure that as I write, as I grow.
I’m less bothered by this “enigmatic” mind of mine.
Continue and believe.
With sincerity and faithfulness, you are deeply loved.
I wonder if it’s a common feeling, the juxtaposition of two pursuits when you become a certain age…
A collector and cherisher of “small things” or an avid “go-after-er” of “limitless”, of all the longings of your heart you’d thought might not be for you, possibilities.
Maybe it’s both in a gentle and knowing of yourself as your Maker made you.
I bought myself two gifts yesterday on my 63rd birthday, a pear shaped candle and a bangle the rich color of jade, the same shade in the “Restoration” collection now available.
There was nothing I needed, I said with ease.
I just wanted those two things.
I came home to birthday cards and there were flower deliveries on the porch that were surprises and only found because my daughter asked “Is there something for you on the porch?”
And there sat two of the most boldly happy arrangements you can imagine, the colors complements of each other.
My son, my daughter ordered flowers, neither knowing the other hoped to brighten my day, yellow roses, lilies and sunflowers.
Patient, on my porch while I piddled around my solitary home, added touches to a canvas I’ll soon take away because they’re too contrived, too hard, not gentle; curled up with an actual book under my quilt and then moved with small and slow steps for the arrival of my daughter and her family.
For birthday swimming.
Dinner and cheesecake with cherries on top.
Later, I sat and lit the candle, knowing it wouldn’t be the same, the waxy drips changing the shape no longer to pear but possibly just a blob.
No telling.
My sister called, the last of my siblings to wish me a Happy Day and we talked past my husband going to bed.
About life, about children, about books, about hope.
About knowing we can never know how our lives or the lives of our children will unfold.
But we can know that to teach them not to expect to always know, only to confidently and gently continue on.
And we can live from that knowing for ourselves and we can carry on, enlightened by life in all the ways hard and soft.
So that we can be our truest selves…mamas, sisters, wives, friends, grandmothers, aunts and whatever our hope without limits leaves on our doorsteps.
We can be where we are because of all we’ve come from and all we now know.
We can love small things and we can believe in the limitless beauty of brave pursuits too.
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 