Yesterday morning, Christmas morning all misty and mellow, I walked early with Colt, the Labrador.
It was early, phone in my pocket and no pods in my ears, the world was whispering like sounds from a distant violin.
It was not noisy.
The birds sang, the trees ready for rain, rustled.
As a walk often does I was walking to unravel my thoughts, to shake off the embrace that had decided to grab hold, the worry for no reason, the sneaky attempts of changing my hope to dread.
The ways we walk, have walked in our lives…some of us, for most of our days left deep and muddy almost cavernous ruts we gotta decide to step up high and get on a new, undamaged by weather road.
I consider myself late to this learning.
That’s okay.
There’s grace for late in life learning and even more than that, there’s glorious celebration.
A few days ago, it occurred to me that I so less often “thank Jesus for helping me” than I do plead and moan consistently, “Jesus, help me. Jesus, help me!”
And I sort of quietly decided with tears to simply change the wording.
“Thank you, Jesus, for helping me.”
and so I said this on my walk along with the acceptance of “I am weak, you are strong”.
I don’t want to speak too soon (as I’m prone to do) but there’s a change that’s been coming in me and for me and I’m welcoming the newness of it.
The life lived from an embrace of the truth of being RESCUED.
I’m reading a book my sister recommended and thinking there was a time I would never have read it.
A struggle between good and evil would’ve decidedly led to me deciding it was evil and putting it on the shelf, washing my hands of it.
The author can’t decide whether she believes God exists.
It wouldn’t be hatred of her or even judgment that would’ve have led to my banning of her book, of her.
It would be a tangible fear, a fear that the thoughts and questions of another might somehow taint my mind, lead me forever astray.
I might “be in trouble”.
You see, there are choices embedded in me, pounded into my head and heart by the angry preacher yelling at me, a chubby adolescent, an intimidated child who just wanted to belong.
To be safe and loved.
And learned to believe that according to God, to belong meant finding wrong in others, telling them about their sin and then never ever associating with such a person.
That’s why I still have this fear that a writer or just a person different than me, might somehow have the special powers to lure me, change me, make me unacceptable to God.
To be unlovable.
I think often of how this fear of being not faith filled enough, about being certain of being right and all the others wrong
Kinda caused me to make some unkind conclusions about others.
To utter unkind words.
Thinking their faith was false when I had no idea or evidence of such.
It was just a response that came from a mark left on a little girl.
Girl becoming a woman seeking perfection to avoid shame, girl becoming woman who waited to be condemned, never comforted.
Girl becoming a woman who always felt but only recently told God so…
“I feel like you’re punishing me, God.”
A woman with a tear soaked face who rose from the floor better for telling God so.
Sensing Him say, “I knew you felt that way, now you’re feeling better already because you weren’t afraid to tell me.”
And that feeling was very certain. God, you love me after all.
The author, Kelly Corrigan in her chapter of her book “Tell Me More” explores the simple response, “I don’t know.”
And it’s an honest choice she expresses.
A private one too.
I’m certain of God’s love. I have more reasons than that memoir idea I keep dancing around would have space for.
I do believe.
It’s a choice and on questioning days I ask God with raw honesty, the questions I used to believe I’d go straight to Hell for even having.
My faith is a winding path, has been mostly.
But, I’m beginning to notice with certainty that the path is becoming more simple, more solid, more sure.
And I’m certain that straightaway road has come in gradual honesty, brave questions and a settled stillness to open my heart and mind, no longer afraid to wonder.
Continue and believe.
Your life, every bit of it is your teacher, your listening and patient guide.
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.
In a time when objects catch your eye, welcoming at times and at others, a shockingly unwelcome stealing your gaze, it is good to be captivated by surprise.
The light landing on places, causing leaves to glisten, overgrown weeds or wildflowers to shine.
I thought to write about the goodness of dark chocolate with almonds since my “good” yesterday was a little heavy,
But, today with a baby boy in a stroller, I’ll stick with “beauty by surprise”.
Beauty you can’t stop looking for, beauty you know intersected your day because God saw your secrets, knew you needed to see something beautiful and untainted by humanity.
Baby Henry kicking his little feet and learning early, Grandma stops often, pauses on our walks and stands still with her eyes closed or sometimes just looks long at the sky.
I saw the copper color on the carpet and thought, “penny on heads, yay!”
Instead, it was a piece of cereal, a circle shaped flake.
When I read the parable of the lost coin, I can see myself as the widow. She’s searching every corner, maybe like me had to find her glasses or maybe she resorted to rubbing her hand along the floors, the corners, the spaces where the coin may have landed.
“Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Luke 15:8-10 ESV
I’ve lost many things. I’m sad because a pair of earrings disappeared (twice, one time I found them) and I can’t find the one charm for my bracelet. It’s long lost.
More than those treasures though is the mystery that many events and interactions in my life, I have no recall.
No memory.
Someone told me after all these years, willing myself to remember, sitting in silence trying to recalibrate my brain,
That complex PTSD often results in memory loss. A chronology of hurt has this result.
Now, you may think this is heavy, sad, upsetting, even depressing.
No, it’s a gift, a joy to know that life is an invitation to simply cling to the joyful and to make more joy, if you can.
So, what is joy?
What is found treasure?
It’s found in listening.
Acceptance of every tiny moment.
It’s found in observing. It’s the evidence that who you are now is so much more important than who you were or what hard things happened to steal chunks of remembering.
The widow in the parable rejoiced.
Was it because she was poor?
Was it because she simply celebrated her not giving up her search?
Or even more, because she realized the essence of the truth of Jesus.
She mattered.
She was not one who’d ever be given up on.
Nor am I.
Nor are you.
I know the parable is about Jesus caring about every single lost soul.
To me it’s about joy.
About never giving up on being found by it and by it finding you.
I’m 63 years old with a timeline of trauma. But, not until today did someone say to me, the memory loss is because of what happened to you, it’s really just brain chemistry, neuroscience.
And the truth of that felt like a coin I’d been crawling around on my knees, scouring the floor to see
For a very long time.
Trying to squeeze the memories from the layers of my brain and all for naught.
Except the realization of the present and the chance to add to memories.
God is so good to me.
I surely don’t deserve it.
There are countless things I’ve agonized over not being able to remember.
I’ll never find those memories.
Maybe, though I can feel deeply the way those crises and celebrations made me feel and I can honor those times and myself by feeling all the feelings now.
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.)
On Monday, baby Henry was a tiny bit heartbreaking. He’s getting new teeth. He wanted me, wanted to be held.
Our morning walk required holding.
Today, he bounced his little feet and nodded his head. He was very happy in the stroller.
The news broke through regular shows because the President was about to speak in Israel.
I didn’t want Henry to hear it, sense it, see it.
I turned the television off.
Baby settled, we took off strolling.
And he was so very content, I began to filter recent conversations, a wide and varied assortment.
A strange thought came, I embraced it, a question…
If I were to talk as in TedTalk fashion, what could I contribute?
I made a mental list. You should too.
I could talk about:
How to supervise employees with helpful attention and kindness
How not to because you work best alone
How to forgive those who harmed you even though forgetting the wrong is not possible
How to recover from disordered eating and why the recovery is a constant decision not to seek comfort or self-destruction through food. Why it’s complex and invites patience with oneself
Why it’s important to be brave in your conversations with your children, adults or babies or teenagers. Why it’s good to be silent, allow them to throw their words like darts towards you as you sit still,
bravely listening, receiving.
How to look in the mirror, full on when suddenly your eyes are tiny and your body is dramatically shifting
Why rest is golden, why it’s okay to lie down in the middle of the day, why it’s peace
What children have taught me about prayer, always thank you’s, never give me now and hurry
Why I believe in Jesus and how I wonder why others are afraid to just believe.
How I know God is acquainted with every facet of me and the true occurrences that surprised me to say “See, I see.”
How to be brave.
How childhood poverty always makes you feel like you’re dressed in old dresses or too tight pants, inappropriate shoes
I’ve spoken in public on occasion. Honestly, without notes…only my heart for the cause for which I spoke.
It would seem I might be able to speak for and of myself.
Instead, I choose writing and I pray writing keeps choosing me.
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 