My noticing of feathers had faded until yesterday.
God is everywhere, don’t forget to notice.
One feather, not spectacular at all caught my eye, my face toward the ground.
A few weeks ago, a bird sat in the driveway. It was not tiny. It seemed paralyzed and I thought it must be my place to help it.
Soon, I discovered it was newborn. Large and loud birds began to appear. It was odd, the realization that they saw me as a threat.
I stood only a minute. I was captivated by their aggression and the way the newborn bird began to move away from me, recognizing because of the elders, I might be unsafe.
They were mockingbirds. That’s what they do, it’s the way of God and nature.
Yesterday, I reached for the feather and I wondered why I’d stopped considering my “finding feathers” as sacred as before.
I decided it’s because of my vision being too “far focused”, either looking into my future with uncertainty and fear or looking into my past with longing to no longer “go there”.
Rarely just in the moment.
So, the wonders that once captivated me with simple surprise were less sacred than before.
Sacred, a word that invited itself into my heart a couple of months ago, a word I’d rarely used to describe my life or my living and its contributions as quietly important.
Significant.
An ask came and with my yes came the assurance that this thing I’d been called to do was sacred.
Now, a memorable gift not to others only but to myself because of that realization.
That secretly and intentionally has led to my noticing wonderful things again.
I’m realizing just now that maybe yesterday was different, the joy in my heart when my grandson nodded yes, smiled and gave me a “high five”, the sincerity in my husband’s voice, the giddiness in my daughter’s voice and in her daughter’s brand new dancer’s pose, my son calling to tell me of a new thing he’ll be trying and the subtle excitement in his voice.
I remembered that yesterday and again this morning, I spoke a new prayer, pondered a word I’m newly fascinated over.
I consecrate this day to you, God.
Consecrate.
: dedicated to a sacred purpose
I consecrated my day to the Lord and I began to notice God again in the small ways.
“May we never lose our wonder…wide-eyed and mystified, may we be just like a child.”
In the asking of brave questions, faith is given power to grow.
To give ourselves and others permission to hope. To look up and outward from wise or sorrowful inward reflection to be ignited by newness in thought.
Light Transcends
I have a friend who suggested an exercise she’d had suggested to her. As soon as you wake each morning, make a list of all the things you like about yourself (and I suppose, your life).
It’s an exercise akin to my intentional looking for color, for small glimpses of God in nature, a centerpiece on a table.
Yesterday, I thought of all the babies and children and kept circling around the question of how this world now will be then for them.
Then, upstairs with the baby, the song “What a Wonderful World” popped up.
I recognized that there will be wonder still in the world for them to discover. Wonder like plants considered “invasive” that I find spectacular.
A Wonderful Place
I haven’t done the wake up and like things about me thing yet.
I’m still thinking about our conversation that day and all the others I’ve been an invited listener to be changed by.
Honesty that’s been opening doors of my heart.
I’m remembering one offering in particular, an admission of messes made in life, wild times likely at least a part of causing.
Romans 8:28-29 is a passage sort of laid in our laps often in hard times by well-meaning friends or acquaintances.
Or it’s a subtle warning to know God is in control, better not question!
Just accept that bad happens and square your shoulders, pick up your head and carry on towards the good that’s promised.
Often, scripture is offered up and ordered to be accepted, no question.
Maybe not intentional, still there’s no healing in that.
There’s no hope, really.
Noticing Beauty
It must be quietly absorbed and eventually understood personally and deeply and with sweet humility.
This morning, I read this passage again.
“And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. For God knew his people in advance, and he chose them to become like his Son, so that his Son would be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.” Romans 8:28-29 NLT
I let my thoughts land on the pages of my journal.
Redemption in Process
God doesn’t cause but sometimes allows. God allows so that we will know He is still with us. He saw.
He sees.
He was and is with us. It’s impossible for Him not to be.
His Sovereign intent is one of persistent and patient pursuit.
He is still with us as we wrestle with the allowance of the crisis, the trauma, the grief, the ugly outcome.
He is still with us and if we will learn to lean into and on Him
we will changed by this leaning.
We will be changed by the hard.
We will, in the leaning, absorb His wisdom and strength.
So that we are changed (made stronger) and that change will better us and make us better carriers of faith to those we encounter.
You must ask yourself bravely what’s so hard to fathom about a God you know as love…
God, did you see, did you allow ___________?
And then you do what’s even more brave.
You look at the allowance of bad and you honestly consider how you in your woundedness, innocence, or ill-equipped for life humanity may have contributed to the eventual disaster or despair.
Then you begin to live more freely as you move closer with transparency to the redemption meant to change you, to offer new hope,
so that your hope and redemptive honesty may be influential in the lives of others.
Maybe, that’s what faith is for.
To be shared in vulnerable and unexpected conversations that change the trajectory of another’s journey.
Often, by surprise.
Just for Joy
Yes, I believe that’s what faith is for.
To bring all things together for good and for us to be more like the one who formed us with certain intention that our likeness to Him will beckon others toward a life of hope, a life of influential love and faith.
Continue and believe.
He’s got the whole world in His hands, always has, always will.
The first sketches I sketched as a young girl, were of trees.
I never thought I’d paint any other subject. I’m still surprised over the peace I experience in the process of portraying postures of women, redemptive,
It feeds my soul.
Tall pines, big oaks, pecan laden and my favorite in my grandmother’s front yard …the shade providing chinaberry.
Trees are complex. They aren’t easy to capture the likeness of.
I sat quietly in my “morning spot”, a chair in the corner of the living room, a chair that was my mama’s, that was fancy for her double-wide in the country.
She’d bought it at a yard sale. I grabbed it up quickly when she died, I wanted it to live with me, I wanted the beauty of her choosing a fancy chair for her not fancy home, to be something I would never forget.
In a way, a seed she left for me to believe that a life can be pretty despite poverty, that there is always opportunity to believe in finding beautiful things.
I’ve had that chair since 2010. I have heard from God sitting there, thoughts formed, hopes and solutions have come.
I have prayed, I have cried, I have napped from exhaustion sitting straight up in this chair.
Before I knew, was tenderly surprised to be asked to speak here, God told me one morning, in a reply to my heart’s longing to know why it seemed I would never be enough, never achieve enough, never be able to see myself as healed and not a victim of so much and so many things.
The words from God, the gentle awakening?
“Lisa, your soil is not healthy.”
Time passed and I sort of tossed the thought around. Thought of all the things I had planted through my life, my children, my marriage, my work for others, my art, my sharing of my words…
“Seeds” in a way, efforts and actual accomplishments that I contributed to the soil of my life, the things that were from my heart and my soul.
The truth of that very odd thought, my soil not being healthy,
simply would not fade.
Months from the first wrestling to understand the meaning, I have begun to make sense of the strange statement.
So, I want us to consider whether our soil is healthy.
I googled “healthy soil” and “what causes trees to die.”
One answer drew me closer.
THE SOIL MAY BE COMPLICATED.
I made a list of complicated seeds in the soil of my life.
One list, things and circumstances beyond my control, even generational curses and a second list of traits, qualities and choices I have planted and continue to plant.
I realized there were a whole bunch of seeds that needed to die, no longer needed my failing attempts to bring life from brittle seeds or to keep nourishing and watering what I selfishly or naively chose to decide had to live forever…
there were seeds of my sadness that needed to die.
There are seeds of my history that I’ve let mark and destroy my hope for far too long.
Consider with me, what your soil, your soul is full of, seeds planted in you beyond your control and marked by sadness, trauma or likelihoods of how you might or might not grow.
Then consider what you’ve planted, tried to force the growth of or coddled and overwatered…
something that needs to be let go.
Because it’s not so much the THINGS that destroy us, stunt our growth, It’s the THING(S) UNDER THE THING(S)!
The seeds entangled in our roots.
My list:
This process requires bravery. I’ll be brave first.
SEEDS THAT MUST DIE TO ALLOW GROW
• SHAME that dies becomes freedom to live.
• SELF-DESTRUCTIVE PATTERNS that are put to death give permission to receive abundantly and to believe you’re worthy to.
• UNWORTHINESS that dies leads to confidence/confident in God not others.
• ABANDONMENT that is allowed to die and be grieved leads to deeper trust and intimacy in relationships.
• VICTIM MENTALITY finally laid down leads to an ease in living and breathing and to breaking generational cycles, a legacy of safety and love uncompromised by negative mindsets.
• FEAR that doesn’t live but dies builds courage (quiet confidence is your strength, this is the way) keep moving steadily forward.
• NEED TO CONTROL given up from an unclenched grip to let die leads to surrender (open hand to heaven).
• BITTERNESS disallowed and put to death yields mercy toward others.
• JEALOUSY that’s snuffed out before it grows invites kindness and sincerity in our thoughts and words.
• COMPARISON that ceases breathing gives breath to abiding oneness and ownership of the uniqueness of you.
I began to research what the Bible says about seeds and found many passages. I’ll just stick to the one familiar to many.
The Parable of the Seeds (the first recorded parable)
“And he was teaching them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil.
And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away.
Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain.
And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” Mark 4:2, 4-8 ESV
God is sovereign and very aware of the times, every detail of our lives.
When I began thinking of what to share in speaking to women, I had no plan to write about my mama’s chair or the beautiful growth I might see as I surrendered the seed of grief attached to the story of an old yard sale chair and allowed myself to see the beauty of me possessing it.
On the outside and above the gnarled and tangled roots, our lives like a tree may be spectacular or just seem healthy and vibrant.
In time though, the “COMPLICATED” soil of our souls may lead to decay, destruction, and depression.
Every time we share our vulnerabilities lined up with our hopes for healing, we point someone else toward the path of fullness, light and redemption that they glimpse in us.
Truths on the significance of the soil of my soul being healthy, free of the thorns of despair or despondency over past wounds continue to reveal themselves to me.
Walking with my grandson, on the rocky clay road bordered by deep ditches and steep hills covered in brilliant moss, music from my phone in the atmosphere…I paused to shake off a heavy mood.
I quoted to myself a verse that’s meant to turn the tide, a proclamation…
No weapon formed against me shall prosper.
And I walked on, pushing the stroller, the little strawberry blonde head in my view, a pair of tiny feet bouncing to the beat of “Skip to My Loo”.
I walked slowly and thought…
But Lisa, what about the weapons you continue to turn on yourself.
And I stood still with the weight of that call to consider this truth.
Wounds are thorns that become tools, weapons of sorts for us to decide there’s no hope for us,
No outcome other than the expected one we’ve known, the time to grow is over
A life without woundedness is one you’ll never get to know.
There are some weapons we continue to use in fear because of proven past failures against the waiting patiently hope and permission to grow.
Wounds become weapons and weapons stunt our growth.
Wounds become weapons that we turn inward, that we decide are evidence that we’re not allowed to dream, disallowed from hope.
So ask yourself, message me and I’ll send you the tree as a prompt.
How healthy is my soil?
Which seeds are deep and should not be kept alive? Which seeds must die?
Is there woundedness in your life that you turn on yourself to stunt your growth, to destroy your hopes?
In quiet confidence is your strength…this is the way.
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 2 Corinthians 4:8 NIV
I reached down to be sure what his little hand clutched. A tiny pebble under close inspection before he stood and let it go, flinging it with strong conviction into the wide grey sky.
We began our walk hoping to miss the rain.
We did.
The trail is new. The path is hilly but smooth, a firebreak for the wide field of brush and trees.
I had a sense I’d been trying to shake all morning, a feeling that even though all was okay, I better be ready for the day to change, for something to go the other way.
I’m writing less about my trauma, a blend of keeping quiet and of looking more closely at wounds than ever before.
Like a little boy inspecting a pebble or stick, I’ve been quietly inspecting the hurts I’ve known in a much more intentional way.
With brave curiosity and braver acceptance…stages of grief.
So, that ache of readying to be ready for something bad is familiar and not at all friendly.
We walked and held hands and watched from a distance
Until the gift of freedom and hope ignited the sweet “setting out” on his own steps of my grandson.
And the weight of worry began to lift.
And I breathed deeply.
Looked around.
Looked up.
Prayed silently.
Added music to our walk.
Reached down with curiosity to touch a mottled leaf to discover the other side, rich in the color of fresh blood, of wine, vibrant.
I slipped it in my pocket, little “H” reached for me, both arms up and I responded as we turned for home.
Sensing the comfort of God, the assurance my fears and protective patterns are not hidden, are well known
And nurtured by God in a way that no longer leads to shame.
My vulnerabilities with God are no longer perceived fodder for Him to refute my faith.
Instead, an invitation to grace and bravery
mercy extended to me by myself.
“Grandma day” mornings begin early. My quiet time is brief and blurry.
I opened my journal to jot February 28, 2024 to discover one sentence from yesterday.
“Jesus, help me to see you today.”
Knowing, suddenly He had.
He did.
The color red, the deep crimson colored leaf like aged wine had been poured for me, left in the dirt, on a long ago fallen leaf, a cup with just a sip waiting for me to drink.
I’d been asking to see color.
Yesterday, the request was different and the answer was love.
”Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.“ Jude 1:2 NIV
“So now we draw near freely and boldly to where grace is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace we urgently need to strengthen us in our time of weakness.” Hebrews 4:16 TPT
When we wake with the woe of what was imperfect the day before or with what we tripped and fell over in our wayward walking, we can acknowledge it all. We can feel all the feelings.
We can accept the mercy of Jesus, reach up and stand to go on the way again, the way to freedom, freedom that waits to save us from ourselves again.
Waiting
We can acknowledge that if it were just ourselves trying to recover, without the knowledge and embrace of His incomprehensible love, we’d not be who we are today.
I might not be here at all.
The smallest amount of believing in the promise of God’s love and mercy leads to overcoming life’s troubles, failures, and sorrows just as much as it does for the one who has never doubted at all.
Mercy meets us where we are.
The Veil
The ones at “the bottom” they’ve hit are just as cared for and cherished, significant in God’s eyes as those who’ve never known “bottom” experiences at all.
Can hardship, shame or regret be good for our souls?
Maybe, if we handle them gingerly like tiny little jewels worth sitting with and quietly considering the value of them in the exchange for the mercy that’s waiting there.
Waiting, always for our timid and tender open minds
Open hearts.
Open hands.
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16 ESV
I woke from a crazy vivid dream about being on the brink of my “dream job”. I would be partnering with a wise and super professional in every way woman, to be involved in some way with the Atlanta Braves. I was one final interview from the job and from moving to Atlanta G-A!
Now, I sit in the too cold for Carolina weather wrapped in a blanket and pajamas so thick you’d wonder if there’s a body in there.
In my dream, I was escorted by this close to perfection in appearance writer and coordinator of “human interest” activities for the baseball players.
They liked me, were excited. I was “in”.
My mama was there…I introduced her to “Miss Everything” with “this is Bette”.
There were other parts of the dream that were intensely telling. No surprise, I was lost in Atlanta, it was pouring down rain and I was driving in a panic and in the wrong direction on the interstate that would take me to the interstate back home.
I wanted to go home and I would tell “Miss Everything” by phone if I could find my way back to there.
In my dream, I found all sorts of things in my purse, one was a check I’d forgotten about.
Although the amount was only five figures including the two behind the decimal, it was enough.
There are many parts of my life buried deep, many aspirational paths away from who my life has made me.
There are crazy dangerous can’t find my way in the storm scary roads. There are dark ones. There are exciting ones. There are wounds from of all the wounding.
There are bravery required ones.
And who’s to say how bravery is defined?
What God has decided is your treasure and what your legacy will decide unbeknownst to you…for others to say “this was her treasure”.
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Luke 12:34 NIV
I’ve been reading a variety of memoirs. No secret, I’ve had a long held goal/hope/calling to write my story.
So, I’ve been reading to learn, to learn how the author will engage me in the hard story of their life with an equal measure of softness to get me to the part of it that was redeemed.
There are a handful I’ve shelved.
Call me critical, but I prefer ones the person writes themselves, not a ghost writer.
And books about trauma, abuse or addiction?
Well, there are two I’m grateful I was mature and wise enough to put down early.
I’m sorry to say one was Matthew Perry’s. I couldn’t endure the hardness of him to discover the soft place he eventually found.
I do have favorites and I’ve just downloaded a fourth. I’m not a book critic, so I’ll keep that to myself except to say I was surprised by the authors’ ability to detail their horror without causing fear in me.
This is what I needed, what I believe readers need.
To tell their stories in a way that didn’t cause me harm emotionally. These books are and were gifts. They’ll remain with me.
I see the search that didn’t quit in them to find the quiet treasured pearl in the turmoil and torment of their wounded lives.
Hard to believe, but they found a way to shine.
“I will when I can.” I have pencilled in the back of my Bible. It’s a response to a counselor’s question long ago.
“When do you think you will be able
to write it?”
And my answer, I’ll bravely share…
“When I no longer need to be noticed, when I decide it’s okay to forget.”
This post just got real brave, didn’t it?
My husband woke me from the Atlanta dream saying I’d been “yanking” the blanket.
I stilled myself, smiled in dawn of Thursday and remembered the last bit of the dream.
I found my way home.
My quiet life.
To continue and believe.
“Turn the page, Lisa Anne.” mama
“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Luke 12:7 NIV
You are loved.
Like a tiny sparrow flitting back across the cold blue sky to its nest.
This cross on canvas was added to my website on Monday. It’s 5×7, small enough for a shelf or side table. Beside it is an old ceramic rooster. I don’t know if I collected it or inherited it from my mama.
There’s a basket full of beach shells and a jar filled with goose feathers from “Aunt Boo’s”. The antique dry sink was Greg’s mama’s.
When I pass by in my coming or going, my eye meets the cross and I pause if only for a second. I am just passing by, passing through, heading to the laundry room or out the door for the day.
Yesterday, I looked through the verses I chose for the 2024 calendar. I found the one I’d pulled from the passage about the woman at the well.
I especially rested on a few words. “he had to pass through”.
“And he had to pass through Samaria.” John 4:4 ESV
Traveling alone, walking from Judea to Galilee, he sat down to rest beside a well.
And a woman with a sordid past met Him, He met her there.
I think that’s what this cross and all the crosses signify for me and I pray for the ones who have one for themselves or have gifted them.
When they pass by and glance for a second, I hope they know, sense, and remember, Jesus meeting them there.
Holy Spirit whispering, all will be well.
John included this brief story of lasting significance in his recordings of all of Jesus’s healing, all of his many experiences with Jesus. He included for, centuries later, women like me who are reminded and receive new mercies every moment because of its significance.
Your personal story of being met by Jesus matters. Treasure it. Cleave to it. Strengthen it.
But, don’t keep it to yourself. There are many people in need of it, of being quenched by living water, freely offered no matter the present or past.
I finished a short book, a memoir I was asked to endorse. I committed to read in its entirety at first because I’ve heard endorsers of books rarely read the book fully.
And then, because I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll share more about this book soon.
For now though, a little about this little prayer, the graphic I offer you here.
Maybe, I thought, a more acceptable prayer, one more able to help tie the loose ends of unanswered questions, to heal wounds still festering, a prayer more conducive to strength and with less shame.
“God, turn it for good.”
The book I finished caught my breath with its honesty, made me pause overwhelmed by the author’s words of wisdom and mostly, empathy.
It’s a memoir about child sexual abuse, a woman detailing her faith and counseling journey as she bravely reveals her secret, confronts her abuser, her father.
Intertwined in her coming to terms with the abuse by her father, she comes to terms with her questions about why she wasn’t protected by God and how the ripple effect of her sexual abuse separated her even farther from the God she was raised in every Sunday morning church to know.
Because she wasn’t protected, she believed less that she was “wronged” and that all along it was her that was “wrong”.
As I read, many comments were added for my benefit. I became teary eyed when I read of her circling back and back again to the why of God, where and why and how was it allowed?
Her counselor gifted her with words I’ve learned to treasure.
God was there too. God was not pleased. Evil took over. But, God was there with you.
Just as He is today.
Still, it is close to impossible for this truth I choose to be less mystery than reality.
I am learning. God saved me for this.
I’m learning to hold in one hand my questions while balancing in the other the evidence of God in my life, the promises that have been fulfilled.
All of the trauma, the unfair treatment, the less than storybook childhood, the abuse, the grief, the slander of my name by others.
The lack of rescue until I was numb to having a hand clench my neck or throw me against a wall. Stunned, I was stunned into submission of things that should never have happened at all.
That I did not cause.
These hurts are long gone and the thoughts they’ve birthed that I share here are for your hope.
These redemptive thoughts.
So, I offer you this little prayer, a phrase you can say on repeat for whatever wrongs you’ve known.
God, turn it for good.
Once, a few years ago (I’ve thankfully come so far) my counselor asked me if I ever asked Jesus where he was.
So, I asked and He answered slowly, not audibly or enormously, instead so fittingly, an image like a painting.
A familiar place where hard things happened and beside me in a grassy place, Jesus kneeled.
Jesus was with me.
I offer you this prayer.
A precious one, really and not an attempt to right wrongs, a gift of retribution, or a magic eraser of pain.
No, a leaning really. Just a leaning as you learn, as you see God with you.
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 