“Why do you use/love weird words?” one or both of my children.
In some form or fashion, the question often came. And I’d say what was true.
“I love words. If we’ve got ‘em we need to use them.”
I have an old dictionary, 1962 Webster’s. The pages are the color of clay and smelly.
But, I love words. I just do. God woke me with the question again of why I have a pattern of making myself small, why small feels safe. A word came, do I try to “diminish” my worth? Alone and small feels safe. And yet, I am certain there’s only a tiny bit I know of all who might be influenced by my story, by my creative expression.
There’s safety in being diminished. I looked the word up in the old dictionary and it’s just what I thought, “to make less, weaken, impair”.
God led me to Exodus. The people were discontent with the bountiful provision. Most translations say they were “grumbling” and yet, the more appropriate and earlier translated word was “murmuring”.
Dancing Leaves, one of 3
Again, I go to Webster. To murmur is to “utter complaints in a low doleful sound”. And “doleful” is a sound that someone makes when they are sorrowful or in dismay.
The whole congregation of Israel was “grumbling”. In the ESV version, the word is used eight times in Chapter 16.
I’m the KJV, the word is “murmurings”.
“I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel: speak unto them, saying, At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled with bread; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God.” Exodus 16:12 KJV
Yesterday, I saw faces of grocery store shoppers. I saw a dullness, an apathy, a less than attentive glance to those around them. I saw “doleful” expressions.
Why does one word matter? Murmuring comes from dismay. Grumbling is well just more of a selfish grouchiness.
It matters because of the invitation to know that God sees you, hears your quiet complaint. God is provision. Your woeful or questioning wilderness is being noticed.
And just as the Lord told the Israelites even in their hopeless state…I cared for you. He is caring for me.
For you.
For the generations that are here and to come because of you.
“And Moses said, This is the thing which the LORD commandeth, Fill an omer of it to be kept for your generations; that they may see the bread wherewith I have fed you in the wilderness, when I brought you forth from the land of Egypt.” Exodus 16:32 KJV
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.
I saw the man again on Monday but, yesterday I wasn’t paying attention. I neglected to glance over to find the front yard of the trailer hidden in a shady hollow place.
Overgrown it was the day I saw the pair standing so far apart they would need to raise their voices.
The grass was high like wheat and a man with a flock of blonde hair all crazy stood with his hands crossed and a positioning of his torso saying “I ain’t staying much longer.”
Facing him was another man, his head tilted to one side in a way that said sincerity.
I wondered about the relationship.
Father, step-father, mama’s friend, uncle or older brother.
I wondered who had caused the crack in relationship and who was resisting more the reconciliation of it.
I also wonder why I wonder. Why I see humans in conditions that are fragile and why God made me to want those conditions to be better.
I know God made me this way and somehow I know the intervening is not for me to accomplish, only God.
So, I pray for strangers. I just do.
And I think about them. I still pause to consider.
“What’s their story?”
I woke with thoughts about love this morning, about the importance of “for my part” demonstrating love.
Love that doesn’t put us in danger of emotional harm is just a positioning of our hearts and mind, we can stay safe in showing love when it’s hard by just deciding we want restoration for someone, we want them to know they are loved by their Creator and if they’ll allow it, by others too.
“Relationship, especially family, requires a commitment to relationship despite differences, dysfunction, and most importantly delays in the other person longing in the same way for relationship.”
I laid still in the place of very good and needed rest and questioned why these words came.
I figured it must be that I’m still curious about the family in the overgrown yard.
I saw the older man a second time. Tall and skinny, a bearded man with baggy britches and an oddly colored pipe dangling from his mouth.
He was swaying in a rhythm with a weed eater as he cleared and cleaned the high grass and weeds.
He was making the situation better.
There was contentment in his movements.
Maybe in the knowledge that he tried and is trying. So, I’ll drive past the place of these two people again next week and I’ll believe the best is being done to restore what’s been neglected or wronged.
And I’ll believe more strongly in the truth of love being demonstrated in small ways to invite change (even if we don’t get to see it).
Because, it’s not about us anyway, it’s about the one who’s messed up and in need of love believing it may be possible…
Restoration.
“God is a restorative God. He is restoring all losses.” John Eldredge, author of “Get Your Life Back”
Continue and believe.
“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8 ESV
I discovered yesterday that 2023 marks a “Jubilee” year for me as I approach my birthday. It’s surprisingly tender, this discovery…almost too difficult to put into words. Maybe I will, maybe I’ll just rest in the discovery of a year symbolic of release and restoration.
I love the sound of “August”, the sounds of it. The excitement for new things like a school year, a settledness from summer things that sometimes feel like “have to do’s” more than want to’s.
Last year’s calendar came to be when I considered the gift of a dove’s meaning, the nearness of God, the invitation to be a believer in and a seeker of peace.
Maybe August comes with an invitation to change the way we’re walking, sort of reroute our navigation.
I discovered the Biblical meaning of August being themes like new beginnings, reset, and one I especially love, “restoration” and I for one, am happy the day is here…the very first day to move courageously (even if again or against the wind) toward beautiful yet to be seen ways that God is a God of restoration.
Nine paintings of women came to life as I thought about the courage that comes from allowing and aligning with God’s restorative love and discipline.
“Restoration”
He’s making us new, leading us who are listening, noticing and recalling just how far we’ve coming.
Our colors are changing, no longer hidden.
We’re vibrant.
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” Isaiah 30:21 ESV
So, watch and notice. Pay attention. August is ready to bring restoration, to continue in ways that felt new, or to begin anew.
Next year’s calendar?
I’m thinking “transformation” as its theme.
Butterflies as art.
“Restoration” pieces will be live on my website (www.lisaannetindal.me) in just TWO Days!
One wilted rose remains. It’s wound its way among the limelight hydrangeas. I’ve been greeted by the beauty every morning this week. Soon, the petals will drop and not so long away, the green will be dried up by Autumn air and the tiny rose will just be a memory, but also a hope.
Could it be as simple as choosing forward looking more often than back?
Could this be the blessing over the curse?
“See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse—” Deuteronomy 11:26 NIV
How we see things matters. Interactions, relationships and our part in the ugliness or beauty of them.
Exchanges linger in our hearts even if we’ve been long separated from the person or people.
We are marked by ugliness and yet, we can choose not to be forever marred.
We can choose to see the joy and lightness in looking forward.
I was frozen in the driver’s seat. I could hurry to catch up and engage in casual talk or I could sit and wait, not have the guts to simply be near her.
“How are you?” might be my question or maybe they’d go first.
Or there might be no words offered, no interaction for the sake of one another, just a layer of stifled breath between us.
And that’s quite okay.
Because hurt lingers long in the hearts of one betrayed, cast aside or used for another’s climbing the ladder advantage.
There was a time when my face was well known, known for the work I represented and recognized in the “right” circles.
Now, I’m just “someone people used to know” becoming the woman not needing to be “known”, just me being me.
I’m not sure what prompted the thought, the realization.
I’m sort of okay with this new “imageless” image. Maybe all the other roles, women I tried hard to be were actually in a way
Imaginary.
This morning, I read a review by Michele Morin of a book by Christine Caine, “Don’t Look Back”.
Caine writes of the ways we can get stuck in our tracks (turn to an immovable block of salt like Lot’s wife) when we continue to look back.
Maybe looking back is good if we use it as a choice to decide.
To look back and see the distance you’ve gotten in your healing from hurt, to look back and think for a minute before reacting, I’m better, stronger, wiser on this forward facing side of that person’s hurt.
To look back, not stuck and staring but to look back and confidently reposition our gaze, to view the harm of our pasts as a reflection of our empowered decisions…
What was meant to harm us will not destroy us.
What was bad is on its way to more very good.
Decide to believe in the good you’ve already seen. Choose a sort of self-assessing.
Quietly measure the sense in your soul that keeps saying to you
“And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5 ESV
Morning Window
A dream kept me trapped for a time last night. Scientists say (I’ve heard) dreams are really just seconds, maybe minutes and yet they feel so very lasting, so lengthy, so binding.
You want to disengage your body from the story your deep sleep mind is telling.
Dreams are intriguing, often troubling.
I find myself mentally inventorying my meals, my television input, the words read before sleep. I search for the reasons for dreams that are scary, always deep.
Last night I dreamt of being in a tiny town where all were being required to be taken away. The ones who returned told stories of fear, told of being entrapped, of being forced to harm others, of being unable to see because of a poison emitted from some unavoidable place.
And I got separated from my group, they never came back and kindness met me in the place in between going or staying and
I woke up.
Shaken by yet another dream I couldn’t see the reason for.
I had chocolate milk before sleep. I watched the Braves lose and hated it because it was my cousin’s husband’s birthday and Atlanta should’ve won for him.
I read Psalms and Proverbs before sleep. The bed was comfy, the room was cool.
And I laid still as the dream slipped from heavy to safe and I said to myself the lyrics of “Rock of Ages”…cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.
Knowing the dream wasn’t so much a nightmare as a vision (please know I’m not assigning any special qualifications to myself…if you know me, you know I’d never do that!).
But, I do know the dream wasn’t about present day, it was about the end days that are coming.
Yes, “end times”.
I will stop here because I don’t talk about things I’m not fully equipped to explain.
I’m a learner. I am learning through the Holy Spirit’s voice spoken uniquely to me.
As to you if you believe.
In the dream, I was kept safe from suffering. I lingered in showing up to the “required sign in”. I didn’t surrender my soul to what these captors required.
And I was left unharmed, a man with a smile comforted me and I woke up.
I can’t begin to explain the supernatural and sovereign ways of God.
I just know what used to scare the s**t out of me, yelled from an angry and judgmental pulpit, now feels like a treasure,
the sweet scent of the nearness of God, the unveiling slowly and steadily revealing the goodness, no greatness of a God who loves me.
God loves me.
God loves you.
Years ago, I wrote about birds and the message continues, in more tangible ways.
I am cared for.
This morning, the mama returned then flitted away once she saw me in the window.
There’s only one tiny bird in this nest I assumed the mama had abandoned.
Now, I hear a tiny sound.
I hear a life beginning.
I pray you see God today, feel him, sense him, know there’s so much more than earth for us.
I pray he surprises you with goodness, with His glory.
Last month, I longed to ask a friend who’s ambivalent about God, even more so about Jesus and certainly skeptical about a spirit longing to be inside her, Holy.
A simple question.
Have you ever considered what your life might look like if you decided to believe in Jesus?
I know it seems a given, but it’s one worth asking every day.
“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” Matthew 6:10 ESV
“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.” John 14:26 ESV
Homemade Moments
I stood in the pool, one foot in shallow, the other in the slant towards deep.
An audience of one, my granddaughter putting on a performance, her very own synchronized swimming dances from the edge into the water. Again and again, with happy pirouettes, she demonstrated the newly formed lessons with commitment.
I paused in between each repetition. I noticed her noticing me as I waited with gazing eyes to sense heaven again.
To find the Holy Spirit in my backyard.
And I did. It was a minute or less.
I sought quietly and I found the breath of heaven, the sense of the Holy Spirit in my chest, the warmth of the passing for just a second breeze on my cheek.
Willing myself to a state of “distractionless”.
In the auditorium, I sort of coaxed my mind to be where I was, to not think of things to do, to wonder less about home a couple of hours away and to practice presence, to be receptive.
I repositioned myself. I set my intentions, I reset my mind from racing to attentiveness.
I wept in worship. I raised my hand, opened my heart. Not unnatural, simply unable to resist.
A woman behind me prayed in unison with the one praying. I sat when “Amen” came, my cheeks lined, rivulets.
I wiped my face and reached behind to thank her, tapped her on the leg to say “thank you”. I noticed the touch of my hand, wet and she touched my hand, received it, my gratitude.
I was away for two days, my granddaughter said two weeks. I called to ask about Saturday’s plans and quickly they were decided, I’d be going to pick her up.
Distant Thunder
We dodged the storms. I taught her to measure the distance of thunder.
We listened. She understood.
She talked on and on and I read with incessant interruptions the book she chose.
Then the storm stopped and she slept like a 14 not 4 year old girl.
I slipped out of bed for coffee and returned to read quietly, turned by mistake to the wrong date of my devotional.
“I have no home, until I am in the presence of God. This holy presence is my inward home, and until I experience it, I am a homeless wanderer, a straying sheep in a waste howling wilderness.” Anonymous 1841 “Joy & Strength”
And moved to cherish, to hold closely the reality of God’s Spirit in me. I am a seeker of solace now, of pausing long for all other things to experience God.
Storms Pass
I completed a survey of the experience, the conference “She Speaks” for women.
I added my takeaway, my thoughtful remembrance of weeping in worship (this is not my normal), of joining hands with other women and of feeling a belonging that was without typical female comparison or judgment.
I slept softly with a girl, four years old, who dreamt something only she knows.
Coffee in Bed
Thinking, I pray she continues to be receptive to what’s not earthly…for that’s where the gift is, the seeking that must be practiced.
When she was a baby we stood at the window and she gazed fixated, seeing heaven in a way I’m incapable.
It doesn’t come naturally. We must remember to long for it with intention.
The way it shimmered caused me to pause. If the movement made a sound it’d be like the rhythmic lapping of the water caused by my body in the pool.
The slight breeze from the air conditioner vent caused a silver dancing curlicue in front of me as I drove.
I was captivated.
What before would prompt brooding, a sign of acceptance, I saw as beauty.
One or three thin strands of my hair, not brown but grey.
Dancing in my periphery.
I’m talking about turning 63 like it’s tomorrow and at the same time overjoyed to discover the biblical meaning of August, my birth month, is “restoration”.
I’m considering the bravery of not feeling old, instead feeling ready.
I have thoughts to share with others, I encounter people who engage with my story and with others whose plight tells me my story might bring comfort,
Might compel them to keep living
To keep growing older.
To continue and believe.
This month I’m leaving WordPress.
I’m thinking of change, of blogging about not just art, but my thoughts on faith on my art website. I’m tender over it.
I love my blog. Still, it makes sense as I acknowledge the overlap, the connection, God’s instrumental hand on my life. Maybe he’s calling me to simplify,
maybe he’s calling me to growth.
My writing and my art will abide together in the same home.
I don’t know which direction my art or my writing will go.
I just know I’m captivated by the glimmers.
Glimmers of hope
That say “keep going”.
If you’d like to follow me as I move forward, visit the About page at http://www.lisaannetindal.me and SUBSCRIBE.
“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life…”I Thessalonians 4:7
Peace
A slender gentleman, likely in his 80’s, glanced my way and offered me his spot in the checkout line.
Ninety plus degrees outside and I notice his soft sweatshirt hoodie was all the way zipped and baggy around his crisp but loose khakis.
Hardly a wrinkle in his thin face, I noticed as he smiled sweetly and asked again if I’d like his spot in the long line at Publix on senior citizen day.
He began to talk about kindness and how we need a resurgence of it. He moved on to politicians and I did my best to lead him back to kindness, respectfully agreeing with him that misuse of money or promises of wealth made by politicians isn’t what this country needs.
I believe he said what we need and I drifted in thought because I’m not one to engage in a discussion over the next potential President.
I’m not smart that way nor interested in debate.
Lines moved and he moved forward. I left my cart and went to tell him
“We keep our light and peace so that others get a little light when they’re near us.” LT
He smiled and added, “Seeing you blessed me today.” I replied, “and you for me.”
He paused to talk to another cashier, pushed his groceries past the exit to chat and lingered. I found my car and loaded my bags and turned to head home to see him engaged in another chat with a man gathering buggies.
I hoped they weren’t annoyed, the others like me interrupted by the kindness of this gentle man who spoke softly about life.
Who brought light and peace and just a hint of politics wrapped in age and wisdom.
This morning, I’m remembering a conversation about my father, about the longing for him to have lived longer.
Somehow I know God told the man in Publix to notice me, to take a chance on a grocery store conversation.
To gift my afternoon an encounter of peace.
To send an angel dressed in baggy but crisply ironed khakis, a thin face like my daddy’s and the same hair, only gray.
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 