Come What May

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, love, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

I’ve been looking over at the second trio of orchid blooms. I never expected it, I expected the failure that often comes with my orchids.

I shift the pot the plant is in, turning it away from the window. I wonder if the cold air from the vent is the reason the branch becomes more bent like it’s struggling no matter the pot’s position.

One evening I walked in the heavy humidity. Told myself give thirty minutes to intentional movement and maybe add some motivational listening.

I tried two podcasts. One was way too chipper, the other too chatty.

I decided to walk quietly.

I remembered words I heard earlier, a suggestion for focused prayer with a question.

So, I asked it.

“God, what is this season that I am currently in?”

I’ll tell you, I was barely three steps farther along and the answer came with no haggling or hindrance.

“Acceptance…This season is a season of acceptance for you.”

I walked on and remembered several days ago as I walked around the house, doing nothing and yet thinking about doing everything. “Malaise” comes to mind to describe it labeling myself lazy but what if

I’m just takin’ it easy, letting things rest?

Thoughts of my latest artwork, thoughts of the completed pieces leaning like sacred treasures against the wall in my tiny little “art room”.

I felt the affirmation rise up in my soul, the conviction to continue anyway.

“Come what may.” I told myself and then very quietly carried on with my “grandma day”.

Just a couple of hours later, an email was noticed. The word “beautiful” caused me slow.

“Your work is beautiful.” the sender said, “we’d like to feature you.”

Only a week or so prior, I’d sent a submission to be a featured artist in “What Women Create” a quarterly publication for artists, a stunning magazine with rich colors and pages weighted heavily.

I told only a couple of people and I never expressed my joy, only my surprise.

“Come what may.” I’d told myself earlier, an expression of settledness in what might happen one way or the other.

I walked on that recent evening and thought about acceptance and began to see why God may have spoken this quality as the one I must understand more clearly in this, my season.

I wondered if I accept the disappointments in my life as sort of “Oh sure, it’s always this way” acceptance and I continue on in that way of expectancy.

More comfortable accepting defeat or delay and treating good things that come my way as

A surprise or a fluke?

When I look back over my life, specifically as a writer and an artist and one who shares both, I have to be honest with myself.

I’m joyous over a ribbon that’s labeled “Best in Show”, over words that describe my artwork as “beautiful” and over kind and loving expressions to me about me and my art.

Still, I often don’t truly believe those blessings were chosen for me. I somehow convince myself it was some sort of accident.

Awareness is the first step towards new thinking, acknowledgement is the key to open those doors widely waiting and questioning why I’ve yet to enter in.

This may not make sense to you.

You may be one who is thrilled by the things you worked hard to complete or compete for actually coming true.

Or maybe you do understand and if so, I share these rambling thoughts and this realization for you.

Do you expect struggle?

Do you anticipate things not coming together?

Do you only half-heartedly commit because not “getting in” feels better than being excluded.

Every success begins with a decision and that decision is more than just trying, it is the decision to believe God has good things for you.

Not only are there good things for us; but, God actually planned them in advance (and is patiently waiting for our acceptance?).

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”
‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Why do we “accept the bad with the good” more than we believe that in reverse? Or let my mama’s expression, “It’s all in it, Lisa.” be a bandaid over a hurt instead of a healing balm?

My recent collection of paintings, “Not Yet Seen” have resonated for many, but I almost didn’t paint them. I told myself “I love them but they’re different for me, no one has seen this type work from me, so many other artists already do this, etc.”

(Available here: https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/art )

The woeful voice in my head, “If I release these and none of them sell, I’ll be disappointed again, I’ll need to acknowledge they weren’t as special as I thought.”

But, I painted twelve, not eleven as first planned and now there are just six remaining.

“I’m so happy I followed my heart.” I told the gallery owner. She answered, “Me too.”

Maybe the seesaw of good and bad and the acceptance of both with equal energy amounts to just how well we “follow our hearts”

And that our hearts most importantly of all, be guarded by love, the love of God and acceptance of that love for us above all else.

“So above all, guard the affections of your heart, for they affect all that you are. Pay attention to the welfare of your innermost being, for from there flows the wellspring of life.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭4‬:‭23‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Every morning I sit in the soft chair in the corner embraced by artwork on the wall behind me.

Often, I rise to begin my day, turn and pause and although there is an array of canvas and paper and color, my eyes land on love and I carry that all day.

Accepting more as truth every moment just how immensely God loves me.

Most importantly, accepting that more than any other thing, any doubt, any denial, any thing at all that will likely come my way today and tomorrow to detour me.

I’ll accept the better.

“Come what may.” I shall say

and when good comes I’ll believe it as truth, I will claim and accept the better.

Always hope,

Lisa (Anne)

The Driver

courage, Faith, family, grief, hope, love, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

The winding country road that takes me farther into the country is crowded most early mornings.

I’m driving away from the city, others are driving in. It’s a curvy road, headlights hitting me harshly and I just keep on.

My thumbs find the raised points on the steering wheel and so I just press in and look forward.

A bus or two will typically meet me. Often, I have to wait.

Last week in the cold rain I thought of the driver, the responsibility of safely moving those children from their homes to their schools and back home again.

I thought of the trusting children, stepping aboard and then sitting assuredly.

Christmas causes remembering.

I remembered my mother’s words.

Over a decade ago, the ICU conference room table had my siblings and I flanked by my mama and a doctor.

The doctor explained the mystery of my father’s condition, the possibility and lack of possibility.

The dialogue went longer than I believe was able to be heard. It all ran together muddled and mysterious.

My mother spoke in the moment of an anxious pause.

“Doctors are just practicing…practicing medicine. They don’t know. God is driving this train. Only He knows where it will go. We are just riding.”

I was with most of my family today. I saw the changes in us all.

I felt the feeling that next Christmas will be different.

I thought of my journal notes early this morning.

We don’t know our days and we don’t know exactly our ways. We are just travelers, passengers in a way…we choose to be joyous.

We often are worried. We approach danger. We encounter uncertain turns. We stay seated although we’d love to jump off and run. But we know we don’t fully know the way, so it’s best to sit still.

It’s best to remember we are the riders. God is the driver.

Last week, another day on the same country road I found myself behind a slow driver.

I wondered why she might be afraid or maybe just tired.

I did my best not to get close. I wondered where she had been.

This woman, sort of petite and with a posture of steel, driving so slowly I could see her.

I have no idea. I simply decided not to add to her question of how or where she may be going and whether she’d make it at all.

We don’t know the way. We’re passengers in the drivers seat but not really the drivers at all.

He knows the way, we aren’t able on our own.

Secret Things

aging, birthday, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

There’s a verse I love that helps me make sense of both tragedy and unanswered questions…of longings for different.

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever…”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭29‬:‭29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m standing in my kitchen remembering a verse I read earlier about “secrets”. A verse about the Lord hearing the cries of his children and also knowing the secret sorrows.

I pulled the big Bible from the shelf.

The one I gave my mama, New King James Version with hardly an underline or turned down corner or bookmark.

I’ve often wondered if she ever opened it or if she just accepted my gift because she knew I needed to give it, a gesture from a daughter hoping to help, to mend, to say something unexpressed.

I looked for the verse and then others I love to compare.

We all carry secret sorrows, longings too long expressed, spoken of so much we’ve exhausted the listeners.

Questions, emotions we cover because we “shouldn’t feel that way after so long or she’s just a dreamer”.

Today, if my mama were here she’d be eighty-six years old. She’s been gone for fifteen years.

I thought to watch the DVD given to us all from the funeral home and then put it back on the shelf.

I can’t really say why. It just felt best.

I have a roast cooking slowly in the oven, green beans very buttery and soon creamy mashed potatoes flavored with mayonnaise.

My husband will wake from overnight working to be met by this gesture.

That’s what I decided felt right on the day of mama’s birth.

That, and not rushing my day but opening again the burgundy large print Bible to the place where the Lord appeared to the amazement of Moses and assured him.

“…For I know their sufferings…” Exodus 3:7 NKJV

Closing the big Bible and deciding to leave it in a place beside me, a slip of paper fell out.

The sweetest thing, a little Sunday School coupon filled out by my daughter.

She’d printed the words and her name and then scratched both out to change her writing to cursive. 😊

It was a note telling me that along with other chores, she would “wash the dishes to honor God and me”.

And I began to feel the truth of being seen by her, the tender recollection of days as a mama that were both tired and trying.

They say the things we long for most that begin very early are

To be seen

To be soothed

To be secure.

Where do you feel you’re lacking? What is the secret ache you’re carrying?

What hurt needs soothing?

God sees you.

God offers a healing balm.

For me it was a note from my daughter that my mama kept tucked away,

the realization that my daughter’s a mama with just as kind and observant a daughter of her own.

Don’t look for answers, just know you are fully known and wait tender hearted and at rest for the evidences of love that will catch you by surprise.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

Always

Remember, love lives on.

Under God’s Heaven

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“Should I do more?” I asked myself and then my husband.

I turned onto the road to my home and saw a clump of something ahead on the side of the road.

A figure, not a pile of wood, I realized as I got closer.

A young woman with hair the same color as mine, dressed in flannel with black and red and sitting staring straight ahead, her knees drawn into her chest.

In front of our home is a wide empty field with freely growing trees once cut down and now growing.

The high grass is gold and it bends and straightens with the wind.

This young woman sat still.

I turned and turned off my car in the driveway, deciding I’d check on her.

I’m not proud to tell you I thought about putting my purse safely inside the front door, tucking my keys and phone in my pocket. I thought for a second she might be violent.

I knew she’d been struggling, been seen roaming and had been hospitalized for addiction before.

And I knew and know what addictions can do for someone who needs what they need.

So, I thought she might be aggressive.

Then, thank you Lord, I decided differently. I walked to end of the drive, the wind like ice on my face. Quietly, almost like I was sneaking,

I asked, “Are you okay?” and she picked up her body slowly and she walked away.

Slowly, like a crawl, her steps kept on until I could no longer see her as I peered through the window in our garage.

“Should I do more?” I wondered again. Then decided I would simply pray. I could pray.

Pray without her knowing, without me needing her to know.

Because once, a very, very long time ago, I drove my little blue Celica all the way to Tybee Island in the cold.

I sat on the hard empty shore.

I sat and stared toward the ocean for I don’t know how long.

And then, I suppose emptied of some of my thoughts, my sorrows, my questions…I drove back to my imperfect life, my imperfect home, my still present struggles.

I’m remembering that day today.

Knowing it was bravery for me to sit oddly on the beach alone.

It was resourceful. It was deciding I could in fact, go on.

And no one told me so, other than myself.

I hope I get to see the young woman again. I hope God gives me a way to help her see her I’m pulling for her…

Pulling for her to decide she can go on knowing there is meaning and purpose she has not yet known.

That she may recall moments of feeling purposeless and searching for what seems too far to reach.

Maybe God will make a time for me to tell her, this young woman staring into the open and broken down field.

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Becoming, With Love

Angels, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, love, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Yesterday, I chose the butterfly cup. As I daily do I considered which cup to set the tone for the day.

Groggy from fitfully sleeping at first and then sort of languishing, I had been still and quiet

waiting for the sunlight to come.

The butterfly mug was the choice and I waited for the coffee, frothed it with vanilla, checked on the dog and sat in my spot.

“Metamorphosis”, I thought.

I remembered the realization of why I loved a recent read.

What I thought was honesty and authenticity was something different, something I felt more clearly.

It was her “loving tone” and I decided quickly I want to be a writer with such a tone.

I want to be a woman whose tone is loving.

I realized it’s life that decides this for us. We just embrace the gift and most importantly be satisfied in it as enough.

I finished another collection of angels yesterday. The surprise of them being so intriguing to others at first surprised me.

I thought and debated on their titles, “Flourishing 1-7”.

Then I wrote down the reason for this name. I reflected on the process of their creation.

I paint paper.

I tear paper into pieces and I manipulate the shape.

I add colors in right places, I use what might have been thrown away to create a new thing.

These pieces, this process all happened sweetly accidental.

My granddaughter and I decided to make butterflies from pieces of some of my old and packed away papers.

And it simply began. This process that resulted in and continues to evolve into stories on canvas.

Happenstance has been the gift of this silent metamorphosis.

Sort of natural and more than sort of unforced.

Like the butterfly, beauty resulted from waiting quietly and still for it to ease from within

Spread gently its wings and fly.

Yesterday after church, my granddaughter held tightly a piece of white paper, folded and creased many times by her little hand.

Her mama held onto it like a prize as Elizabeth fluttered off to run circles with her brother.

I came home and added the final layer to the “Flourishing” collection, photographed them and added descriptions.

“Richly layered with color, these pieces represent flourishing to me. We think less about flourishing in the Winter months. We’re more likely to feel a bit “neutral” if we were to describe ourselves as a color palette. What if we leaned into the confidence that in what may seem to be a dormant season is actually a time of great internal growth? The truth is that whatever feels hidden or delayed is leading to our growth in lasting ways.”

I’m not sure others will see this on the canvas. It’s what I feel in the process and it’s my hope that love, that tone comes through.

My artwork, when unforced comes from within not without.

The postures, the colors, the movement and strokes so very often mimic wings.

I changed a piece yesterday afternoon late. It had been abstract, it had been soft and yet bold but only an idea of what I hoped it would say.

My brush found the lines, the curves that I know.

The tilt of the head in prayer, the waiting posture of one in the wings.

The patient figures believing, along with me, in the process, the secret one.

Calmly waiting to see what might develop, might say what’s needing to be said both clearly and lovingly.

And mostly to know that the process that both comforts and guides may offer hope to others.

This morning, after resting well, I chose the simple ivory mug.

The day is unfolding.

So is the love. Wait slowly.

Stay with it, the tone. Always hope.

We may know who we are.

We surely know who we’ve been.

But, we don’t know fully who we are becoming.

We should surrender to the art of us, not resist.

“The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3‬: 25‬-‭26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Always hope.

You are loved.

And becoming.

Christmas Children

Children, Christmas, christmas ornaments, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, sons, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

Every morning except Christmas morning, my feet padded softly down the hall and to the outlet that powered the Christmas tree lights.

Then I’d touch the little button on the mantel garland and the soft lights shone sweetly.

On Christmas morning, the lights were left on all night before.

I’m thinking about the kindness of my husband’s gesture.

There was no talk of Santa, no cookies and milk for him, no carrots for the reindeer, no late night sneaking of gifts to the living room.

Still, the lights were shining because it was Christmas Eve.

And try as I might, I can’t not remember childhood Christmases. I both cherish them and with tender caution hold hard memories gently.

This Sunday morning, my whole house is quiet as the predicted stormy weather approaches.

As I do very often, I thought of my daughter and son, wondered what they were doing, hoping their days would be good.

I thought of who I am as a mother and what mothering has taught me. Naturally, a list formed.

Mothering

“I love you” has been spoken or typed without reservation .

I can always count on a weather report from my daughter.

I can enjoy dining out with my son.

I’ve learned to expect adventure, a few times I’ve been invited to tag along.

There will always be opportunity to both laugh at myself and to own my weaknesses.

I will never not secretly see them as little children at times and those times are gifts, precious surprises.

The certainty of their giftedness is a gift to me as is the certainty that they were gifted to me by God.

I think about such things.

Likely more so at Christmas. The solitude invites reflection and resulting epiphanies.

This year my tree will be up until January 7th.

Holding on until Epiphany, as I consider Jesus as a child.

For Jesus as child at Christmas and the child still in me as a mother, I’ll keep the tiny lights on.

Longer than ever before.

Considering Trauma

Abuse Survivor, aging, anxiety, confidence, courage, eating disorder, grace, grandchildren, love, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, traumatriggers, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

May your head and heart speak with one voice. (Last night’s teabag)

Yesterday, I heard someone say that trauma is not what happened to us as much as it is our response to it.

I wondered if avoiding what reminds us of a harmful event or period in our life is doing more damage than we ever thought.

I thought about this, sipping my tea in bed in the dark after reading “How to Babysit a Grandma” and planning matching outfits with a spirited five year old.

Thursday Night Sleepy Tea

I took my little girl self by the hand and we remembered what happened on Monday in the dental chair.

I decided to consider my trauma response, look at it closely, learn from the recognition of my reaction.

The hygienist told me there was a new approach to cleaning. It would involve an instrument blowing air with a little bit of force in my mouth. Because of that, a thin paper shield with an opening would simply cover my face.

The procedure began. It wasn’t painful. I folded my hands together and sat still. Then I began to sort of dig one finger into my thumb, an anxiety reliever, I thought.

Then, I noticed my breathing change.

Then, I noticed fear.

The hygienist finished and I felt my body unclench, my neck unstiffen and my belly exhale as she freed me from being trapped.

She didn’t know.

It was too strange.

Here I am on Friday considering the gift of small and unthreatening, albeit unavoidable reminders of trauma.

Here I am deciding that just maybe these not so scary things are meant to be noticed and acknowledged so that we over time may still have a trauma response.

But, we can make sense of it and making sense of it will only lead to even more healing than we would know if we’d silenced our thoughts.

Being held down with a hand over my mouth, my face, my eyes was decades ago.

Decades ago.

Has something deeply hurt you? Were you a child? Were you on the cusp of grown-up?

Are there reminders from time to time?

Don’t silence them. Notice how they show up unexpectedly and so very often in safe (but scary) ways.

When we consider our trauma, we’re not coddling the helpless baby of us, we’re simply honoring our story and giving ourselves and God credit for all the rewriting.

How can we rewrite such stories?

Maybe like this:

My cleaning appointment was better because I put my very own music in my ears. The hygienist was kind. She’d changed her hair and I told her two times that it was beautiful. The instrument used to remove the plaque was not enjoyable but necessary. The new technique with the air pressure in my mouth took the place of the polishing. The tissue paper circle covering my face was not pleasant but kept me dry. No changes, keep flossing, maybe go without your partial on top to ease the inflammation.

There’s trauma all over my issues with my teeth.

Last night Elizabeth, my granddaughter watched in fascination as I cleaned my dental “appliances”.

When she asked,

“How many teeth have you lost, Grandma?”

I answered “two” because the true story, the number being slightly more would’ve been too hard on her little ears.

Instead, I smiled and said “Two!”

And her little blue eyed face lit up as she grinned and said.

“Me too!”

Considering trauma, let it talk and pay very close attention when it speaks gently.

Simply longing to be heard and learned from.

You are loved.

Continue and believe.

Restoration is a process and a promise.

“I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you.”
‭‭Joel‬ ‭2‬:‭25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Listen

Abuse Survivor, aging, book review, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Holy Spirit, hope, love, memoir, obedience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

I pulled her book from the shelf with the others, dusty and turned with the red spine toward the wall, because I like simplicity, only the ivory color exposed.

How do I know which books are there?

I have to be a seeker.

On the first page is the author’s signature and a note from when we met years ago,

“God 1st!”

This morning, well rested, I glanced over and saw the book waiting for my devotion of seemingly wasteful time to sit still and read. There’s so many other things to do.

Coffee first and journaling then I turned to Colossians and a familiar few verses.

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”
‭‭Colossians‬ ‭3‬:‭2‬-‭3‬ ‭

A resigned and contemplative shape of a woman in the left margin and notes to self on the edges about how to love others, how to think, how to live.

Now I’m just thinking about the thinking part, about setting my mind on things above.

And the page I could fill of all the things I want here on earth more than I want God.

Naturally, I made a list because I so love a list.

Then summed up what I believe these verses are saying and what this book waiting to be read again, adding new underlines and “oh’s”.

We want “bestness”

To be our very best

and so we look for the path to being best. We look everywhere for evidence of such “bestness” and we don’t really have to look for long.

A screen will pop up with suggestions for pros to help you with being your best. Your inbox will give you instructions from someone who’s an expert on what is the measure of your best and they’re ready to bring you along.

A podcast will guide you in understanding your “number”, your personal markers of trauma and will offer to help you erase that mark in time.

Toward Hope Collection https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/lisa-anne-tindal-1

These are helpful, they are valuable and yet, not givers of that certain and essential quiet hope that feels like a tender and sweet secret.

Seems we’re all aching, yearning, researching, and striving for “bestness” and maybe in our quests we drown out or subtly buffer the expert voice within, the quiet unwavering, not “in your face”, unchanging, uncomplicated voice of God, our Creator, the very author of our unfinished book.

We have a bend towards not being needy, of believing we should be far enough along to not need and absolutely not to ask for help.

We (maybe just me) are timid in acknowledging we still struggle, we still look for evidence of our value in many things, we still wish we were farther along in our walk with with God, after all.

We resist circling back and beginning yet again which is crazy because it’s in the necessity of just us and God knowing this that we can have a sweet and private revival.

It’s a simple Sunday. The birds are singing. It’s a stay home day.

Later, I’ll open the book with my name inside and I’ll begin again, the wisdom in the admission of the need for revival.

“I Want God”, by Lisa Whittle

https://www.lisawhittle.com/books

Because I’m sixty-three years old and in my life, I’ve done a whole lot of growing and am a pretty good “knower” of me.

But, God knows me better.

Knows me more.

You too.

We are loved.

Continue and believe.

God knows you more, loves you with a merciful call every day.

“When you turn to the right or turn to the left, you will hear his voice behind you to guide you, saying, “This is the right path; follow it.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭21‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Tell Me Your Story

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, family, Forgiveness, freedom, hope, love, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

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.

You are loved.

So am I.

Change The Wording

Abuse Survivor, aging, anxiety, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

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.

“Jesus, thank you for helping me.”

This prayer can be yours too.

	Under the mask.. on Held
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Seeing and Being Seen
	Ray V. on Seeing and Being Seen
	Cathy Rigg on Come What May
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Curiosity