Not so long ago, I wrote about “cardinal sightings”, a sign I decided, that God was in my very close vicinity and that he’d sent “someone” to tell me so.
Then time passed as time does and the red bird flashing before my eyes didn’t mean much at all.
Over time, the search stopped,
the fascination faded.
Red On My Walk
Monday after the family gathering a couple of hours away, I’d been thinking about the way things change.
My aunt and uncle (my remaining parental figures) are aging. There are noticeable changes.
There are reasons to accept.
It won’t always be this way.
I walked the Labrador today. I was in no hurry. The sun was warm, the shade was invigorating.
I let the dog drift from the trail to the grass.
I waited and then looked up to see the bird on the branches, a red one.
It lingered. It perched.
I paused to rejoice silently.
I came back home and worked on a painting, refreshed my son’s bedroom for when he visits with fresh sheets and comforter, fluffed the quilt and got the bed ready for his dog to stretch out.
The Labrador who’s staying with us, but not for too long. He’ll be back in Charlotte in a new quiet home very soon.
I thought of Christmas today, of Christmases of my childhood, Christmases of before.
I thought of how it’s a pattern of mine to anticipate the sameness and sadness of them.
And yet, if you made a bullet list of hard and good Christmases side by side, we’d both be surprised, maybe enlightened.
I don’t know why the emotions work this way, we hold the hard so tightly and we hold the sweet and beautiful as if it’s not important, as if it’s not a splendid gift, a time to treasure.
We look for the memorable and forget the moments.
We long for the same no matter its goodness and we resist the reality of every single breath alongside those we love that testifies to the truth,
It won’t be this way for long.
Oh my goodness, I saw my grandmother’s face on my aunt, the tiny little circles like apples on her cheeks as she smiled.
And she saw it too. It was the first time she noticed and now we all can’t not see it.
And I saw her face when she saw me, saw my children, their children and all of the others.
And it won’t always be this way.
We’re not predictors of time or change or good or hard.
I saw three cardinals, a flash of crimson through the window.
One lingered, dipping into the birdbath that belonged to my mama.
It was a day of unexpected sightings for what I’d not been seeking.
Isn’t that the way, the most beautiful way?
It won’t always be true.
But, some days it will.
And the worst of days no longer mark you because you pause to see the good have been better, the sweet has been sweeter and the expectations have been softened by the brave embrace of the comparison.
December always makes me remember Merle Haggard, the hope of makin’ it until then and the days being brighter days once we’re there.
Yesterday, I thought of six words that I could call my December memoir.
Not a finish
A clearer path
There are places in the country I won’t walk with the babies.
Surprising, I guess because I’m sort of a rebel when it comes to strikin’ out on a walk.
“I’ll figure it out!” I’m known to announce.
I have memories of the year I lived with my mama and daddy, a period of seeking wellness from self-destructive eating.
I can’t tell you how many miles it was…
the circle of dirt road that began at my grandma’s house, through the peanut field, past the creek, up the hill, past the “shack”, past the farmer who wanted to date me’s house, through the weeds, around the curve to the lake where the rough people lived and past my Aunt Marie’s to be back home again.
It was way too far for a woman, young and with a reputation, to walk alone.
I was thin. I was lost. I was lonely.
Thinking back, it wasn’t health I was seeking, it was simply more self-destruction.
Trying to have my life match what I decided it was worth…not much at all.
That’s a hard pill to acknowledge. This meandering search I’ve sought, mostly taught, some stubbornly chosen.
“Self-destruction is an addictive behavior.” Rita Springer
I heard this truth last week.
And I’m kinda blown away by the resonance.
The truth that it’s not one specific or stereotypically thought addictive behavior that is addictive. Instead, it’s any and all of our choices and responses to life and our people and places in life, that lead us to this well worn and not so safe path.
I made a list. I love a list.
A list with words that may either seem too normal, not destructive or may seem like they aren’t choices that can become addictive, intentional choices we continue that are self-destructive.
I suppose I should soften this…no one wants to be told they are “self-destructive”.
How about behaviors that aren’t good for our bodies and souls?
Choices that don’t cherish the truth that our bodies are the temples of the Holy Spirit. Paul doesn’t sound too positive when he warns us.
But, have you ever noticed that he begins and ends his letters with a prayer that we’d all have the knowledge of God’s grace, His love?
“Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.” 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 ESV
Not so soft a warning, I thought.
So, back to the list, maybe an inventory year end of subtle and not so subtle self-destructive behaviors.
I chose a different header, kinder wording.
I chose
“What is NOT giving you quiet confidence and strength in God, in your choices these days?”
Accepting unkindness (abuse) in relationships
Taking on too much to please others and thereby determine your worth
Bad health, diet habits
Too much looking for good on a phone
Procrastination in regards to God’s nudges
Habitual time with God without reverence, sort of rote
Junk TV that takes my focus on God in me and puts it on the crazy or interesting lives of others (I love reality TV)
Clutter (mental and otherwise)
How are these self-destructive? Mostly because they have a tendency of putting God’s voice on “mute” in my daily life.
So, how do we move through our days, through December with a hope for the coming days.
I’m learning there’s one more important thing.
See suffering as fellowship with Jesus.
You may have heard all things are worked for good and you might have actually known people who say so.
But, do we really believe that they believe this?
Paul wrote about this fellowship.
“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,”
Philippians 3:8-10 ESV
Suffering has its gift.
Faith not in ourselves but in Christ
Sharing in His sufferings.
Becoming Christlike, a privilege really, not hardship (?)
That’s hard, not easy.
I’m not great at this. I avoid suffering with a well learned and established skill to be hyper vigilant.
Yesterday, baby Henry wanted to walk, not be strolled. He burst forward on toddling feet in socks, not shoes on the rocky path.
In the distance, a black thread laced across the path. I stood and watched, turned the baby back towards home and turned him back again. He was intent on forward, moving steady down the path.
The dog didn’t bark. The black snake made its way into the brush.
And we lingered and walked slowly in a rhythm of walking away from home and then turning back to home.
There was no need to hurry.
No need to fear. We were safe.
God was near.
There was no fight to be fought, nothing but us and the breeze and wide blue sky above us, God enveloping us and our faith in His ever present love.
“When we wrap the language of war around our suffering, it becomes a battle to be won rather than our experiences to be processed.” Katherine Wolf
I’ve never been good at fighting, only at sullenly retreating.
We weren’t made to fight, only to be faithful.
“For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.” Isaiah 30:15-18 ESV
And now, about the possible change. I’m motivated to write with more intention. I’ve gotten a bit lazy in all things purposeful as far as writing.
I’d love to have a more thoughtful and strategic way of connecting with those who relate to my voice, my story, my content.
Writing or blogging friends…thinking of moving my writing from WordPress to Substack. Any advice or experience? Also, has anyone saved their WordPress blogposts as a document to keep or possibly use for future publishing?
I need to make a choice very soon…renew here or start new on Substack.
“I sense God bringing a truth to me, a reminder or a nudge to consider the value of just a few words, often the words of Jesus and I just decide to share them, thinking someone else may need them too.”
This is my response when someone tells me my honest reflection or interpretation of scripture was timely for them.
Often, it is surprising.
“Go in Peace” feels like a gentle well wish, a suggestion or saying.
But it’s more like a commandment.
You came, you believed, you sought healing, you were healed.
You are healed.
Go in Peace.
To purchase this calendar dedicated to my granddaughters and every woman created to live freely in the embrace of God, to go in peace, click the link below.
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.
If I could’ve driven on up the circular driveway and felt confident I hadn’t been seen on the Ring camera, I would’ve just timidly left.
I sat in church on Sunday next to a woman who invited me to join her women’s small group. The time of their gathering would work for me. The leader of the group, the host called me on Sunday afternoon just as I roused from a nap.
I have a history of not belonging, of being the poor girl in the too tight pants, of being the one longing to stay hidden.
I said yes.
And I sat in the dining room with other women discussing the study of the week.
I spoke up when I felt I had thoughts to contribute. I suppose it was okay.
We don’t talk much about this thing between “women of faith”, this thing of sizing one another up and being curious over what secrets the others hold.
I was welcomed.
And I will find the courage to believe I’ll be welcomed again next week.
Trying is a good thing.
A hard thing.
A brave thing. Women of faith, I’m afraid can be intimidatingly perfect in a sometimes beautiful, sometimes not so beautiful way.
I’m giving myself mercy today because I can’t think of anything original or feel like really stringing words together that may be witty or cause one to pause and think.
I keep thinking about Matthew Perry. I know, I know. I don’t know him and he’s a celebrity.
But, I keep wondering if his drowning was intentional or if he passed out from drinking or drugs which would mean he’d fallen backwards
maybe again.
I walked and wondered if it was shame over a slip up that led to him falling too far to get back up.
I wondered about shame in general as I willed myself to get up from my painting desk to get fresh air.
To exhale, inhale, notice life on a solitary close to dark walk.
I thought about shame. I wondered if it can make you ill, physically ill.
I walked on, quietly.
Talked to God in my mind.
Took the long way back home
And saw a dove perched on the street sign on the corner.
Before bed, I read a verse about being cared for. I read that the shepherd takes care of his sheep overnight. Sheep don’t have to worry about being fed, of waking rested and ready.
I woke too early on an “off” and open day. The moment I sat with coffee, a thought came.
I’ll share it here as the “good thing” today.
Morning Thoughts
“What are you building and why when I’ve already established your dwelling place?”
I wrote underneath 10/26/23 and my children’s names in a thick circle, is this question.
I pause to consider why, I question the significance of “dwelling” and I imagine eye rolls and even laughter over the “depth of me”.
The more I thought of this question God gave me, I compared this world we live in, these lives we lead of striving and comparing ourselves just to stay “caught up”.
We don’t have to build ourselves up.
We may topple under the weight of the hurried addition to our first or second floor. We neglect the foundation and we envision mansions that represent our lives, when we’d be better as a quaint little three bedroom with a porch.
After all the building for appearance and to comfort ourselves in being enough, we just might find we don’t want to live here anymore, it’s just too much.
And that’s good
That’s a kindness of God to be shown that you are enough, more than and that although you feel worn thin and the structure of the dwelling of you is feeble and tired, there’s still a little corner that’s waiting for you to find yourself acknowledging the exhaustion.
You matter.
The condition of your body and soul, the place where God dwells even when we can’t find Him in the clutter.
Surprisingly, that’s a sweet place, the most beautiful place you’ve known all along.
Maybe, its name is acceptance.
I think so.
God gave me this today. He wants us both to know. We are enough in our dwelling with Him, we don’t have to wear ourselves out in building, renovating or leveling ourselves in destructive manners because we don’t think our “dwelling” measures up.
God has more than we can fathom in the place of us He long ago established.
“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” Isaiah 45:3 NIV
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 