Day 9 of the 31 days of writing prompts caused me to groan.
Power.
I turned to weakness, my default or maybe not so much my fragility, but the preference not to lead, not to be involved in anything that requires power, assertion or influence of others.
Those days are done.
Afforded me time to take the blinders off, the struggles and strengths of others for way too long buffered what God needed and needs me to see in me.
It’s been long overdue and good.
Power?
Can we call it strength instead?
Then, I remembered my waking thoughts I framed with prayer.
Lord, help me know what those I love need from me.
The answer came eventually.
The strength I’ve been certain of going on a year.
Peace. I need to be peace. Not a peacemaker, interventionist or conflict resolver.
No, simply, I need to be at peace.
To be peace.
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9 KJV
I need to “make peace” in others’ lives by example.
With this comes strength. With this comes a power that enables me to do for those I love or simply encounter.
Surrender is a big requirement, but one that brings ease. Clear vision of your own issues leads to change.
Peace is not getting what I want or want for others. Peace is giving whatever perplexes me continuously to God.
I thought that was its intent, especially the Book of Revelation. Can you relate?
Angry preachers and their warnings with the intention of frightening me towards God.
My twenties changed to avoidance altogether, no chance I’d dare to believe that punishment for my behaviors might be met with a full measure of mercy. Thirties brought hope, a timid hope that perhaps I could chance trusting, believing in a different way.
Here I am at sixty plus a year.
Going on a decade or so of steadiness in my seeking even if my walk isn’t always steady.
That’s the thing.
Unwaveringly and simply, I keep deciding moment by moment to believe God.
In my quiet and confident way.
In God who created me, saw me through choices and troubles that were not his intent for me.
Still, His intention is that I know now,
He never left me, never will.
Like the wings of angel draped around my shoulders, surrounding me in love.
I’ve been cared for. The foundation of my faith is His provision, protection, wisdom, mercy and grace.
When my days are complete. I want it to be said of me.
She kept believing in Jesus. She wasn’t afraid tolive according to His Word.
“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” John 15:11 NIV
What did Jesus tell them, tells us through His recorded words?
Remain connected. Be a healthy and thriving branch of my goodness, mercy and love getting the nourishment to grow directly from me. (my paraphrase)
“…apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5 NIV
Love everyone. Endure. Be found faithful.
Be met by God on your last day on earth this way.
Leave stories of your faith for your children and grandchildren. Live this way, Lisa.
Even when others drift away, make allowances for sin and avoid hard conversations.
Abide in me, stay.
You don’t have be a fighter, just be you, a gentle and steady believer,
A victor of the faith.
“Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life.” Revelation 2:10 ESV
Lord, thank you for the changes you’ve brought in me and keep bringing as I continue and believe.
“To be with God, in whatever stage of being, under whatever conditions of existence, is to be in heaven.” Dora Greenwell, Joy and Strength Devotional
From the kitchen window view, I felt hopeful for Fall, considered leaving the back door open, optimistic that the breeze might join the morning sounds of peace.
Refreshing, it would be.
Not quite yet, but pretty was the thought, the heavens met my request and answered with the ushering in of new.
Hoping to catch a shot of a spider in its web, I found comfort in the powder blue sky fluffed with white.
Turned back for coffee and saw the rosebud ever persistent and perky.
Life continues.
God sweetly says so.
What if you decide the life you think you want is not the life your heart knows is for you?
What if the only voice you answer to is God and the Spirit of Him inside you?
What if contentment isn’t a fight to the finish, instead a quiet knowing you’re already farther than you thought you’d ever go?
What if you shift all your measuring tools from “I was” to “I am”
And gently, gently let yourself be you encountering the doors that open to who you are “becoming”.
All without outside interventions, offerings or comparison.
Even if according to others, becoming feels like unjustifiable, unfair or underserved waiting.
What if you realize you’ve really no idea what it is you’re waiting for?
“Believe…life will surprise you.” Brandon Heath
What if who you are is quiet and you’ve been way too noisy?
Even if you’re the only frustrated listener?
It’s loud, overbearing…the you that’s unsatisfied.
“But the meek shall inherit the land and delight themselves in abundant peace.” Psalm 37:11 ESV
Continue and believe.
Decide to be close to God, unchanged. Look up, remember where you are when you’re with God.
Stay if you can. Return often and linger longer.
“For just one day of intimacy with you is like a thousand days of joy rolled into one! I’d rather stand at the threshold in front of the Gate Beautiful, ready to go in and worship my God, than to live my life without you in the most beautiful palace of the wicked.” Psalms 84:10 TPT
My gaze focused on the tall bare branched tree, old and ash colored amongst the others still holding green.
It reminded me of hope and holding on, of being planted in just the place that the morning sun illuminates it. We walked together in rain jackets, pockets crammed with acorns and fallen leaves, feet bare because of spontaneity.
The rain sounds led to a prayer stance she copied. I smiled.
Peace. Sweet peace.
On the way to church on Sunday, a memory came. No reason, not a song or a scene that stirred up the scary long ago vivid memory.
Of a time marked by alone in a sort of wilderness, marked by events that changed the imprint of my brain. Changed and erased my sense of safety on most days.
I’m afraid altered workings of my brain forever.
I wonder.
Today, that fear of forever seems accurate. Powerful nightmares for no apparent reason woke me at 6:00 and then finished their working as I drifted in and out of their fearful overtaking until 8:00.
I journaled them, looking for the seeds that started the nighttime stories, the coal that fueled the frightening furnace.
I made sense of it in a way and then asked God if nightmares would always be my battle, if I’d ever be able to be effortlessly hopeful and free.
Matthew and Mark recorded two versions of the boy brought to the disciples and Jesus by his desperate father. I imagine the father was wondering if his son would ever be well, if he’d be overtaken by muteness and seizures forever.
Jesus answers questions firmly and with a tone of importance and perhaps, impatience with them all.
He tells the disciples your faith must be increased and he tells the father you must rid yourself of unbelief.
“And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.” Matthew 17:20 KJV
“Jesus said to him, “What do you mean ‘if’? If you are able to believe, all things are possible to the believer.” Mark 9:23 TPT
Then he tells them, you must have faith and most of all your prayer must be a committed, confident and consistent kind of prayer.
“And when he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, “Why could we not cast it out?” And he said to them, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.” Mark 9:28-29 ESV
I gathered my journal and pens, other books and put them away for today. I sat with my coffee and my kitten.
Quietly, not at all condemning, the answer to whether my past trauma would always lead to debilitating nightmares and have power over me in my sleep came.
Yes, if you will hold fast to the faith seed I gave you, nurture it with prayer and commitment and allow the growth, you will be better, less held in the horror of past trauma.
I believe
If you will decide to believe. If you will have faith in your healing equal to the measure of me, your powerful Heavenly Father.
You will continue to be better.
The passage in Mark 9 has held my interest for a couple of months. I see the father, I see the disciples who’d just returned from the Mt. of Transfiguration with Jesus.
They’d been witness to God saying this is my Son.
“And a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice came out of the cloud, “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.” And suddenly, looking around, they no longer saw anyone with them but Jesus only.” Mark 9:7-8 ESV
Still, their faith was small, Jesus told them as they asked why they weren’t able to heal the boy.
“He said to them, “Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” Matthew 17:20 ESV
I find comfort in knowing belief wasn’t easy for them, having faith that made no sense must have also been a challenge.
I like the tone Jesus had with them…sort of you asked and I’m telling you. You need more faith, you need less unbelief, doubt and dread and more abandoned belief in me.
I sit now with the answer to the question I asked an hour ago, a note to God as a prayer.
Yes, you are well and you will be even more well as you ask for my help. Ask me to help your unbelief.
Is there something you’re sure you’ll never be fully free from? This side of heaven may always include our hardships, horrors and disabilities.
Ask God to bring you relief and to increase your faith, decrease your unbelief.
Perfection is not necessary in this pursuit. Recognition of its power and of your need are more important.
Turn your face towards heaven.
We were not made to carry burdens alone. Talk to God and a friend or counselor. Find someone who will believe alongside you.
Who can you think of past or present who is famous because of their peace, the most indescribably unknown person you know?
“These are treasures no bird of prey can see, no falcon’s eye observe.” Job 28:7 NLT
“Bethesda”
I spoke with an author of three books recently. I sensed the ache in his voice as he told me about his writing after I talked about mine, the children’s book inspired by Matthew 6:26. We agreed to sell a lot of books, you must be famous, have a website with a bookoo of followers and be good at talking about yourself.
Just the conversation between us about self/book promotion was hard.
Before sunrise today, I thought of just how contradictory that seems. I’ve read lots of Christian books, some sort of trendy and insubstantial and some very resonant and worth returning to.
I thought of how we, as far as I interpret the words of Jesus, are not supposed to want to be famous.
When we say
“Make Jesus famous, not me!”
We’re supposed to be able to mean it.
And yet, an agent won’t return an email and a query goes unread because you have less than 5000 Instagram followers.
A few weeks ago, I had a skip in my step, a sense of a really cool possible art opportunity.
Time passed and it faded to “oh,well…”
I’ll reference trauma once here and that’ll be it.
If your needs went unnoticed as a child or young adult and you get well enough to try expression of your needs and talents again and nothing happens…
You decide it’s better to be invisible again.
Because invisible is what you know.
But, now this self-awareness feels less achingly deficient and more like
a better fame.
A realization of what I decided was my “treasure” was not my treasure at all.
Years ago, when I began writing, my heart set on a memoir about the possibility of hope, I was starry-eyed and optimistic and I told myself don’t be a chatty little woman who writes about Jesus.
Be authentic. Be real. Be truthful but not so truthful you hinder another’s hope.
And I thought I’d write a book about it all.
Now, I realize I may not.
Because the truth, my truth I am learning to be okay with is,
I don’t think I want to be famous. I think I’d rather be quiet.
That admission may be the kiss of death to being a published author or it may be the breath of heavenly fresh air to a weary striving soul.
Because writing, painting, being a published author are not my treasures, my peace and my peaceful sharing of my healing are. They are the treasures I hold and occasionally share in hopes of stirring curiosity over the same treasure for others.
I won’t stop writing and I won’t stop painting, often with crayon.
I’m just certain being a person who can be found by name on Amazon as an author or who has art that can be searched for and purchased has given me a taste of fame.
But never has fame made me famous, instead only made me wanting more.
Thirsty for recognition, parched for praise and aching for a dollar sign saying success next to something I made.
Eight years blogging. I suppose it’s fitting to write honestly today.
That feels like a quiet celebration.
Keep writing. It’s good to continue quietly and to believe.
Because healing is not dependent on fame, only on believing, believing like the lame man on the banks of the Bethesda.
“When Jesus saw him lying there, he knew that the man had been crippled for a long time. Jesus said to him, “Do you truly long to be well?” The sick man answered, “Sir, there’s no way I can get healed, for I have no one to lower me into the water when the angel comes. As soon as I try to crawl to the edge of the pool, someone else jumps in ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up! Pick up your sleeping mat and you will walk!” Immediately he stood up—he was healed! So he rolled up his mat and walked again! Now Jesus worked this miracle on the Sabbath.” John 5:6-9 TPT
“He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud and anointed my eyes and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ So I went and washed and received my sight.” John 9:11 ESV
Growing
Two passages have held my interest in August, my writing sparse because of a desperate longing to correctly understand one and to linger in the hope of the other. Plus, my brain’s been a bit fuzzy, like a dull swirling of what next.
Anyone else?
The passage about the man blind from childhood whose parents were interrogated by the Pharisees about the cause and the remedy has captivated me.
“His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind.” John 9:20 ESV
The other is the passage that contains the words to “carry your cross” used often in sermons or songs. It always intrigues me. More so now because I believe I’ve been believing it wrongly.
“And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” Matthew 10:38 ESV
Once I heard a woman sing a song she wrote about her cross. Her voice was strong as she began and then wilted in weepiness towards the end. The lyrics told of her personal battles, her depression. These burdens she told us she had decided were her’s to carry, they were “her cross”.
I caught myself now thinking, “albatross”.
Mercy
I remember how hopeless it left me, her disclosure, and how I pondered the weight I’d be expected to lay across one shoulder for the rest of my life.
I’d be bent permanently by the burden of my traumas.
If my past was my cross I’d be like the aged and decrepit beggar on a back street barely carrying on.
Oh.
The road I often travel passes by the County jail. Men and women are leaving to walk towards town with paperwork in hand or they’re sitting at the exit, heads bent towards their laps, hoping soon their ride will be there.
I pray.
“Change their life for better, God, today.”
Last week, a young man I guessed to be in his late twenties stood on the corner waiting. He was dressed in clothes that didn’t seem to match a night spent in jail. He stood and then paced and I watched in my rear view mirror until watching was no longer possible.
I noticed something different. I sensed his deep contemplation and so I opened my hand to heaven and prayed, “Lord, let today be his turnaround day. Be near him in a new way.”
When Jesus passed the man who’d been blind from birth, the disciples asked him, whose fault is this?
Is he blind as a punishment for his wrongs or is he blind and it’s his parents’ fault?
Jesus told them no, it is because God wants others to see the possibility of hope, of healing.
“Jesus answered, “Neither. It happened to him so that you could watch him experience God’s miracle.” John 9:3 TPT
And I See
Now I see.
“The healed man replied, “I have no idea what kind of man he is. All I know is that I was blind and now I can see for the first time in my life!” John 9:25 TPT
And now I see, the cross I carry is not the cross of my past wrongs or wrongs done towards me. My cross is not a burdensome visible and invisible reminder of what Jesus healed me of and from.
My cross is the very cross Jesus died on, the sacrifice of surrender to His Father’s plan, the hope of eternity for all of us who would say like the blind man.
It was “the man called Jesus”. (John 9:11)
Who said , I can’t comprehend it all, I just know what I experienced and I won’t debate with anyone on how or why or if.
I’ll carry on healed and I’ll carry the cross that made possible my healing, the good shepherd’s brutal cross.
I will follow.
“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:11 ESV
I most likely won’t know what happens in the lives of the prisoners who’ve been set free.
I know hope is possible.
Healing is a moment away for any and everyone. Jesus is still near and miracles are still the evidence and purpose of the cross, the cross waiting for us to carry in exchange for every weighty sin, shame or trauma.
“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Galatians 5:1 ESV
Barely had I written down the words, instructions to myself for today, when the sound of rain in subtle steady sheets caused me to rise.
I opened the door, left it open and watched the rain fall against the luminous backdrop of day.
The rose petals splattered softly like paint tossed towards a canvas.
Beauty.
I like rain in the morning.
Permission to be slow.
I made a list of “be’s” wondering if it’s just me that can’t get started, can’t accomplish in an orderly manner like before, can’t see things through because of changing direction halfway through or a focus blurred by one thing or another.
Anyone else?
I wondered.
Be still.
Be focused.
Be surrendered.
Be okay.
Be open.
With the last one came a visual. Me, in the car, me in my room, me in prayer, me in pause.
Walking and my hand opens to let God have a hope, a thought, a question.
With regularity, I open always my right hand and I give someone or some thing(s) to God.
Prayers that don’t just happen in church, happen any or everywhere.
“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.” 1 Peter 5:7 NLT
Not until this morning did I think of the act of the surrender from my open hand, a stronger visual of letting it go, giving it to God over and over
Because I grab it again and I keep having to say sorry, I know it’s better with you.
Here you go, God. Please take this, help me to let you keep it this time.
Maybe I’ve turned a corner this morning, I’m thinking.
The “be open” added all of a sudden saying don’t close your fingers in a grip of what’s not yours to handle.
If you do this, how can I lay the very best things in the cup of your hand, the place I designed to gift you like a newborn in a cradle, new things, new joys, new chances,
“The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.” Psalm 16:6 ESV
I wonder if anyone on a summer morning would pause there as well. Or just me, my eye drawn to nature, the way an old bent root is exposed through what once was the ground, now eroding to give way for the road.
For our morning walking.
We noticed the pillowy green moss covering the border and we’d never not touch it, the invitation to see new life juxtaposed with trees barren because of age.
We stopped and cupped the evidence of life in the palm of our hands, caressed the smooth earthen wall.
It was a small thing, gloriously small.
Like clouds thickly shifting, my thoughts are of the majesty of God’s hands swooping down to stir them up.
I am convinced of this actually and often.
Majesty
I’m in a group of women called “The Alabaster Girls”.
I joined this group of others I don’t personally know because I wanted to be one, one with other women who would if given the chance, pour out all I’d been saving up in my own vessel or jar and in the face of resistance, express my relationship with Jesus.
“…what she has done will also be told in memory of her.” Matthew 26:13 ESV
Today, the leader suggested members of this group share our testimony. I paused like I’ve paused many times before.
My testimony of deciding to believe in Jesus is really small, sort of private, sort of “not sure it took” because my path forward has been imperfect.
So, I typed it in the comments and I saw my salvation in the truest way.
I thanked the group’s moderator for asking me to tell the story of my salvation, the one I sometimes felt was too small.
The story of my quiet day, quiet choice and quietly steady faith.
Jesus came to me gently and I welcomed Him in, in a quiet way.
I sat alone in my home, a single mother with two children. My Sunday morning thing became watching Charles Stanley, In Touch. I decided to believe what I still believe, Jesus died for me so that I could have life. It wasn’t a whole lot of fanfare and so, many times I’ve questioned the simplicity of it…now, I know that’s the greatest gift and truth, the decision to believe in Jesus can happen anywhere and I should never discount my testimony…deciding to follow Jesus, alone on a Sunday morning with a journal in my lap. God knew me even when I was so lonely and lost and He met me the most gentle way, knowing I was afraid of “being pushed around”. Wow. I’ve never actually written this out until today. God is using you, sweet Nan Trammell Jones.
The seed was planted way back then although not always meticulously tended or consistently fertilized by choices, prayer and worship.
Quietly, quietly and persistently I have grown and in my often “quiet about it” way, the way God made me, He is using my story.
Glorious Things
I am growing and others see Jesus in me in the very way God made me.
Quietly like the persistent beauty of green moss covering the ground, the evidence of goodness, of peace, of quiet confidence in God, the earth and all things knowing Him made more glorious.
Decide to accept Jesus. You will never regret what can never be taken away.
“Here he stands! The Commander! The mighty Lord of Angel Armies is on our side! The God of Jacob fights for us!
Pause in his presence” Psalms 46:11 TPT
I woke to a pleasant voice on my phone and then a message that alarmed me and led to surprise then chills followed by a pause.
It’s almost noon and I’m numbed and lazy by the absorption of the truth of someone’s passing.
Sadly surprised.
I hear the hum of yard work in the back and front yard of the neighbor. Curious, I step outside.
a shower overnight abundanceeverything passes
Last night I looked from the window and thought how happy it made me, the limelight hydrangeas my husband decided to plant in a new place.
Twenty years married tomorrow and we have our first legitimate garden. Our granddaughter helped plant the tomatoes. The growth of zucchini has been outrageous.
I check it every day, a rectangular space near the fence.
Full of growth
And still growing.
I haven’t told my husband of the friend’s passing. They were close in a way I don’t know, seems he saw strength in him and I believe it was mutual, most likely unspoken.
Strength, yes.
Strength.
We’re not able on our own. The tiny plants become tiny tomatoes. The transplanted hydrangea dug up from my husband’s mama’s home is flourishing. The butterflies on the porch that enthrall us don’t last long.
Leave reminders though, reminders of the joy of their presence and the flutter of their wings.
A beautiful song.
“The Lord is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.” Psalm 118:14 ESV
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 