Don’t you love it when the sky, pre-dusk and cloudy draws your eye up
to see a round ball with an aura and you’re confused over whether it is the sun or the moon?
But, it doesn’t matter. You’re not bothered by your lack of wisdom in the area of science. You’re enamored with the beauty, the beauty of the sun and/or moon.
Don’t you love it when you recognize your bravery and for only a minute, even less, you allow it to make you afraid,
Afraid of others, afraid of too much true you?
Don’t you feel brave when you are you?
Don’t you just love it when you reach down to collect another feather because to you, it means something, to you it feels like you see me?
Do you see the change when your aunt sends you off from your visit with a pot of your own of “hen and biddy” succulents?
Don’t you feel brave when she doesn’t remind you that these grey green waxy flowers are from the funeral arrangement of your mama
And you remember but you don’t linger in the scene of sorrow’s visual?
Don’t you love it when even grief can become beautiful, when you see me more clearly and see more clearly how I see you?
Beautiful all along,
even more evident and every thing beautiful, in time?
Don’t you love it?
God
Overwhelmed with bliss are all who will entwine their hearts in him, waiting for him to help them. Isaiah 30:18, Passion translation
She told me a heartbreaking story and how she came to accept it.
She said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
I woke today and met rejection. An email quickly skimmed and moved on to the folder marked trash.
I’d told myself submit and if it is for you, it will be.
I wasn’t at all destroyed over it. The not being chosen for my writing was sort of an answer to some recent questions of God.
One in particular, do I just blog and let that be enough?
I don’t know yet.
But, I’m open either way.
Not on the edge about it. I know that God’s intentions for me are always good. I find it brave to believe this.
Wish I’d believed it sooner.
Wish I’d seen the verse with the words “returning and rest” the way my friend explained it.
“Daughter, come back.” is what she told me the prophet Isaiah wrote, as instructed by God.
“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.” Isaiah 30:15 NLT
My friend is biblically wise and I’d always felt the words about running away felt like chastisement.
She read farther back and told me God is just reminding me rest means closeness and confidence and strength are from staying near.
We talked a little more and we began to share worries over our world, the evil motivations of people and the bravery required to stand strong and speak up about God.
She became quiet. She shared of a high school classmate she’d heard through others had suffered a stroke.
She told me they weren’t close friends, hadn’t run in the same circles way back then.
Using the connection of another former classmate, she contacted the ailing friend and asked to drop off food, say hello.
The stroke victim said no at first and eventually allowed my friend in.
And I’m not sure how many visits there were, if meals were shared or if conversation became natural.
My friend shared that the woman she’d been visiting did not believe in God. She had her reasons.
My friend asked God to keep her alive until she could change her mind about Jesus.
My friend ached for that assurance. She is aching still.
The former classmate died too soon.
Tremendous pain prompted her to get any pill she could get off the street and my friend heard that the stroke victim who said there was no God, died while sending someone a text.
My friend heard later, the pill was tainted, a deadly ingredient added.
I sat and sensed the ache of question. I saw regret in the posture of my friend.
Months passed since the passing until one day in the shower, she longed to know why she’d not been able to help the former classmate believe in Jesus.
She looked over at me and said,
“God said, ‘that was my intention’.”
And the truth of God’s intention for my friend’s friend and for me caused tears to begin slowly.
Peace permeated the space between us.
“So, you have peace about her?” I asked and she nodded.
Then, I smiled and I cried and I told her something I don’t think she knew would be for me.
What that means is that those horrible things that happened to me were not what God intended, the evil just won the battle.
And maybe, just maybe the stuff I longed for that had not happened was not God’s intention for me.
Come back, daughter. Yes, I now see.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you. Isaiah 30:18 ESV
What makes no sense to you if you believe in a God that is good?
My friend found peace when God told her, I was on your team, I was fighting alongside you.
You having more time with her was my intention.
Evil broke in. Broke in too soon.
On earth there is evil.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11 ESV
Heaven, though, is God’s purpose.
Our hope and future.
Come back. Stay near. My grace to you is intentional.
The situation was dire. His friend Lazarus had died. His arrival to save him was delayed.
I am thinking of a young woman who bravely told her story of domestic violence on social media.
Photos with captions of what was happening instead of what her posed by his side and pretty face portrayed.
Photos hard to look at for long, one dark purple encircled eye balancing the other’s vacant expression and her arm marked by a bruise from grabbing.
This young woman is from the place I call home.
She is brave, was brave.
Most likely very afraid.
I fell asleep with private tears puddled near my ear. I fell asleep with the acceptance of my own truth.
A truth I’d been over and over rethinking.
Certainly, there was good.
Turning Corners
For some reason, I just don’t remember it. Surely, your years all running together could not have contained that much hurt, that much fear, that much abuse.
I breathed deeply again and tried to rewind my life in my 20’s movie. I longed to believe the trauma had simply erased the happy like they say it does the hard,
As sort of our brain’s protective role.
But, that made and makes no sense at all. Why would the brain and its memory reservoir dry up the good, deny the times of love?
Two nights ago, tears came and my soul felt sad and then gently at peace, relieved.
Yes, physical and emotional abuse by a man who began as a date is a part of my story.
Being a captive and being brainwashed into keeping it secret is a chapter in my life.
Now, even more healing will have its chance to do what it has been preparing me for, what God kept me alive to do.
Mercy Every Morning
I see the waking up slowly of me and I see the tears that were not brought on by long ago pain, rather the welling up of hope, I see the beautiful things that have already begun and will now be free to finish.
As I turned the long clay lane to my granddaughter yesterday morning, a song came.
I crept up the winding hill, turned on to the sandy path we walk and hold hands. I careened in slowly to my place on the hill.
Safely I arrived and safe I shall be.
I hope you’ll listen.
Josh Garrel’s rendition of “Farther Along” makes me happy every time.
Makes me hopeful. Makes me content in not being all knowing.
Father, thank you for the honesty you allow, the truth of us you slowly guide into revelations with sweet, never bitter tears. Thank you for words, for bravery even if new. Thank you for helping me continue, to continue and believe. Thank you for my present love and safety, the embrace of family.
Because of mercy, Amen
Me.
I am thinking still of the young woman and her photos, meant to share her truth and to help others. I’m thinking of her bravery and the way I still hesitate to say that I was a victim of abuse.
I think of how some days, like yesterday, I’m still ashamed and afraid to tell. And I’m grateful for days like today when I choose “publish” instead of “trash”. I choose believing there is so much good to see.
“Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” John 11:40 ESV
A deer jumped from the field onto my path and I slowed. I expected another and then, yes, a young one skirted on wobbly legs all by itself into the woods.
I thought of the season, not being a hunter or having knowledge of why they were out walking so early, feeding I assumed, preparing for something, going some set aside place or looking for seclusion.
Later, instead of the regular “walk around the block” I saw an opening. A deeply wooded path, narrow with a valley and then a slight curve that made me curious about where it might lead.
I stepped in with the baby. Very quiet, very careful to watch my feet. We looked together up towards heaven in an enchanted gaze.
The brown ground was covered in seasoned oak leaves. I moved slowly with intention and walked unafraid.
Standing still to see a pair of cardinals and hear the rustling in the branches of others, I listened.
I thought. I am sixty-and a day years old today. It’s okay.
I saw God there and I felt him see me. Thinking towards the next things because of uncertainty of where the path may take me if I choose the more wooded way at the top of the hill.
I turned back, the peaceful way called my name. I chose to take the simple route, the one I had barely begun to know.
I turned and was greeted by the view of an opening like a garden entrance, a glow of gold and green that begged me to see.
You discovered a new way today, now step back into the old path forever changed by your seeing.
The settled way, the way without accomplishment, goal or agenda.
The trusting way, the way to allow God to show me instead of anxiety’s need of always knowing, forever second guessing and harboring remorse because they did and I didn’t.
The better.
Mary, the sister of Martha chose to be settled, to choose the better in a time women were expected to be fixers of things, holders of it all together, preparers of perfectly orchestrated outcome things.
Perhaps, I may be exaggerating here. Naturally, I didn’t live in the days of the sisters who had Jesus come to dinner.
But, I have lived in days of huge expectations and pressures and I am beginning to understand, allow, most of all believe in the better.
“There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:42 NLT
To linger longer in the places God calls me, to slow down and believe he sees me.
Late in the afternoon, I watched from the windows. The trees that were far from me reminded me of a stormy ocean tide rolling on. The rhythm of their sway and the brushing up of the trees was a dance with the wind.
Synchronicity. I had said a quiet prayer, a pause and I opened my eyes and sat still.
I sat and rested my eyes on the horizon of dark cloudless sky, the gathering of trees.
Knowing it’s impossible to stay here for long, there are many things to do.
But, for a moment, and more moments later.
I can choose the new and the better, redemption this side of heaven.
This thought became a decision this morning. I woke happily relieved of a restless night that included a horribly realistic dream.
I was pleasantly awakened by the slight sound of “ding”. It reminded me of a whisper, maybe a mama coming close, saying “Sweetie, it’s time to get up.”
Expecting a photo of my granddaughter, I reached for the phone, slid it under the covers so I wouldn’t wake my husband.
Instead of a photo, it was a message from someone who messages me each year a couple of days before my birthday. Each year, the message includes “Toward”.
I open it to enjoy a video of Schroeder from the Peanuts at the piano playing a classical version of the birthday song. Lucy barges in and wants to sit next to him. He says no and she huffs away complaining something akin to creatives needing their space!
I smiled.
I turned towards the glow of morning and opened my palm to give God today, to ask for His guiding.
The birds were uplifting in the tone of their chirping as I sat to journal. This too, I welcomed.
It was time to make sense of the nightmare, time to process it and take what good I could from a vivid story, someone trying to once and for all kill me and me imploring them.
“No, things are better. Things are different.”
I spoke those words to the evil in my sleep.
I woke and remembered the horrible parts along with the prayers I’d prayed just yesterday in my private place.
I’d listened to a podcast about miracles. It stuck with me that we can be bold in our asking; but, first we must let go any unforgiveness.
“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.” Mark 11:24-25 ESV
I prayed that way yesterday, forgiving people and forgiving behaviors.
Forgive me for my failures as I forgive those who failed me.
The day continued well and then the inability to sleep followed by the scary reminiscent dream.
I steadied my mind and set my intentions on “toward” as I wrote a note to myself. “What can I take from this?”
In the quiet, God answered.
I have no doubt it was Him.
In the nightmare, my words were clear. I was not silenced by the offender.
I spoke firmly and said. “But things are better, you don’t have to harm me anymore.”
Hearing my own voice was significant, I realized and different than the nightmares of before.
Better is believing God.
Better is believing in my very own prayers, my voice. Better is being confident that God has more power than the forces of harm.
Two separate podcasts and a birthday message sealed the deal of this hopeful conversation between God and me.
A podcast on the Lord’s Prayer reminding me of God as my loving father, a podcast about deciding to be “with” God, a God of miracles in every endeavor.
Both were reassuring of the good God I love and who loves me.
My heart danced with joy when Allen Arnold (author of “The Story of With”) spoke of deciding on a dream with God’s agreement and beginning to flourish.
This was confirmation. This is the story of “Look at the Birds” a soon to be published children’s book about worry. A story God spoke so clearly one morning and then kept speaking, “don’t just let this go.”
But, I almost did. Yesterday, I found a note to myself. I almost gave up on the book. I’d added to my to do list, “just hang the bird paintings in Elizabeth’s room.”
That very day the publishing company called to discuss moving forward. I said “Yes, I’ve decided. I’m ready to publish.”
Knowing that there’s no clear measure of success monetarily or simply the book having readers.
However, the success is in the continuing towards a calling, the creativity of God in me.
The memories of last night’s terror have completely subsided. It’s midmorning and I’m looking forward to an early birthday celebration later. I’m thinking of another heron painting. I’m remembering the prayer I believe.
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” Matthew 6:25-27 ESV
This is one of those posts that needs a disclaimer: Memoir type personal plus possibly all over the place rambling, one of those that simply recording it cements the value of it all coming together.
Oh, and about aging and accepting it and not being caught up in regret.
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. II Corinthians 4:16
I made a scribbled list of verses that comforted and confirmed my hopeful thoughts. I read a familiar passage, one used to reassure or comfort others after a disappointment, tragedy or just acceptance of unexpected change.
“God will make good of it.” Christians are known to say.
I cried the night before in front of my husband, not a horribly uncontrollable weeping, more a soft release. Tender, it felt.
We were catching up on things, I needed a few minutes of his attentiveness. Earlier, I pulled into the driveway and he greeted me and the only reply I gave was, “That did not go very well at all.”
He asked for an explanation. I said “later” and realized I was worn out from sharing how this unexpected thing made me feel, exhausted over trying to have another person understand my needs, my secrets, my reasons for anxiety.
Psalm 107 caused me to say softly this morning, “Wow”.
I’d found one verse and it fit and then I turned to read the chapter entirely, the one with the header in my Bible, “Let the Redeemed of the Lord Say So”.
“Some wandered in the wilderness, lost and homeless.” Psalms 107:4 NLT
I still have things to say, the optimism of this truth met me.
I thought of my years of wandering, most of them not a misleading of my own making, but of being caught up, trapped, lost and to this day surprised to be a survivor.
I paused to pray. I thanked God for keeping me safe, for preserving my life.
Some things have happened in these pandemic panicked days that have triggered me.
Felt similar. There are requirements of this time that remind of control, of powerful demand, of being silenced; the mask I wear as mandated shields me for my health and others yet, reminds of being held down, told not to yell.
Last month, my dental woes began. A bridge that made up for four lost from damage teeth shifted and broke from one tooth that was an anchor.
I stood up in my art room, felt the slight change and it fell into the palm of my open hand.
“Bewildered” is a word my precious cousin used to describe me as a child. At gatherings she says she remembers seeing the expression in my preteen eyes and thinking, bewildered.
I was relieved that someone had seen it.
Here I find myself, a few days from 60 and bewildered again. Having to be reminded of the blows to my face and the hard slaps on my cheek over thirty years ago. The dental surgeon displayed the elaborate 3-D images of the jawline, the place where the cheek makes a little circle when I smile, the place that is now in resting mode as I prefer not to smile due to this gap of only gum because of broken bridge that covered missing teeth.
The surgeon seemed empathic, so I felt I should give an explanation as to why due to past trauma I was not a viable candidate for dental implants.
Why someone who looks pretty okay now at one time was not.
So, I spoke of my past. Soon after, wishing I hadn’t. It was not safe to share. Not that it was taken lightly or not heard, it was not safe for me to hear my own sharing.
It reminded me of being unseen and unheard in my past and deciding to stop asking, to change my expectations.
So, that night my husband sat and I told him how I felt in the dental chair and how the trauma of my past was being reborn and fighting to be thought and overthought. Saying this to him helped.
I cried a little and then decided to change my thoughts. I decided to resist the downward plummet into always a victim.
This is transformation, this intention to be aware of my safety, to begin to see that this is what Paul meant when he wrote all things God makes good.
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. Romans 8:28 NLT
I saw this often quoted verse differently. It is not that God wants me to accept that the bad things were bad and somehow I am to accept that they will be made good. It is not that we don’t have sorrow, are expected to hide our longings for our mother and father who died before seeing a grandchild. It is not that we are naive thinking a crisis that leads to pain will magically feel better, be considered a good thing.
No, this passage is about the good that comes with acceptance of the bad and to continue to thrive, to continue to move towards a likeness of Jesus, to decide not to be pulled into misery over trauma, to be intentional in your speaking to your self, “You are safe. You made it and you have so much more making. You have still more story of redemption to tell.”
You can feel it. You are being called towards God’s purpose.
The purpose? Transformation
Your body is aging, shifting, even moving towards failing. All the while your spirit is blooming like a wildflower spread!
You were lost in a sad wilderness long ago. You decided on a different path, there were helpers but you set out at first on your own. You were and remain found!
A blind beggar lingered roadside as Jesus walked by. He and the disciples had just discussed which of the twelve would be most important of all. Jesus did not entertain the conversation as they continued on, only telling them not to be surprised that the last will be first.
The blind man spoke out, shared his plight and asked for mercy. The onlookers told him to be quiet. Jesus heard him and told him to come near. He jumped up from the dirt and went straight to Jesus. Jesus asked him how he could help and the man, blind Bartimaeus told him he wanted to see.
Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.”So they called to the blind man, “Cheer up! On your feet! He’s calling you.” Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked him.The blind man said, “Rabbi, I want to see.”
“Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road. Mark 10:49-51 NIV
There are many stories of healing in the Bible with similar endings, people in need are made well. People who’ve been harmed are healed. People who have been wronged or been wrong receive mercy.
Their faith, our faith has healed us.
And so they move forward in that very faith as followers, not backward glancers filled with regret or question of why and how and what was that sorrow’s purpose anyway?
He brought them out of the darkness and the shadow of death, and burst their bonds apart. Psalm 107:14 ESV
Shortly, I will be back in the dental chair. I will begin the process to choose a partial (oh, that word!) over implants and I will accept what seems, feels and sounds so bad is best for me, is better. Better, than I expected.
Last week, I asked a question of someone I never thought of asking. I reminded myself of times leading and training others, how I’d tell them if you ask a question, that shows you are committed to learning and it also shows me you’re okay with not knowing as long as you trust that you can learn.
I asked three precise questions to help me with a writing decision and the person who answered, answered with “No problem, that’s what I’m here for”.
And I didn’t think it until today, this lost and listless morning, I should ask God to help me unravel these feelings, this lost exhaustion.
And He did.
“And stopping, Jesus called them and said, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.” Matthew 20:32-33 ESV
Being honest with God about the empty and boring angst my morning began with led to a gradual shift.
Numb due to the daily same no indication of change because of pandemic, discord and lack of good sleep due to dreams about Christmas, I’m barely moving as I go towards the coffee.
I sit with pen, open my Bible, circle boldly the word “trust” and then add the same letters on the place below my thumb, add a cross where the big nail pierced Him.
Flat, unmotivated, agenda-less and only pending set aside for later ideas kind of days.
I decide fresh air may enthuse me and I see the sunlight on the wild purple flowers.
I find the tomato sweet granddaughter discovered and dropped. It seems a rabbit took a bite out of its side, left it near the porch.
I find the new red bloom on the daisies and I see the geese crossing the road slowly, unconcerned over the big truck lightly tapping a beat with its horn.
The geese take their time, their plans for today are the same as the days before.
I saw the acceptance of rest in all of it. The empty slate day that welcomes restoration in a gradual way, the renewing of my mind, a required reminder.
Today, a summer Sunday perfect for quiet supplication of a clean slate, anxious clutter cleared and a willingness to be okay in the widening expanse of waiting.
These are not days of “finger snap” make all things better.
The realization of this, at first is exhausting. Still, these days that represent dwindling hope are only doors to more trusting.
If I could, I’d go stand in the widest open field I could find secluded from all eyes and I’d open my arms way, way wide.
I’d celebrate a realization.
I trust you, God.
I’d celebrate the change quiet brought me on Sunday morning when I woke so depleted. I’d thank God for answering when I asked for restoration. I’d thank Him for new ideas ready to be followed up on. I would thank him for answering all my questions.
I’d be grateful for the dream that kept me thinking although sleeping, I’d thank God for dreams about Christmas.
Because, Christmas is my favorite.
Thank you, God, for correcting my vision.
“He brought me out into a broad place; he rescued me, because he delighted in me.” Psalm 18:19 ESV
This morning I found a child’s name in my Bible. A singular word, her name up in the corner of a page of Psalms with no details, no other information.
I must have prayed for her on that unrecognizable date.
An adolescent with fiery strawberry hair and a presence either marked by anger or the need for attention.
She and her siblings lived in the women’s shelter. She was the child in the middle. She was one of the three found homeless due to the mother’s dilemma.
She tried her mother and she tried us. She could not contain her emotions, her fear, her anger, her lack of being able to make sense of her current condition.
Most likely, I jotted her name the morning after a day that staff and I spent trying to manage her, hold her together, quell her violent temper.
I see her name in my Bible moments before turning to today’s Matthew reading.
Matthew 14 includes a favorite account of Jesus.
Jesus walked on water. Told the disciples not to be afraid.
“But Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage. I am here! ” Matthew 14:27 NLT
I read on to the fifteenth chapter and as happens often, I’m pulled in by just a phrase.
This morning?
Jesus healed many.
I read of the mama who had a daughter she could not settle. Her outbursts were loud, unavoidable, her spirit unwell, even angry and stricken by evil.
I thought of the name in my Bible, just a name written in faint cursive in the corner of the page.
I remembered the last I heard, the child is in chorus, the family lives on land near horses. The mother is better, the sisters are well.
The disciples felt Jesus should avoid the woman and her daughter. The mother begged for different. Jesus paid attention.
Never thought of it before, the absolute gift we give by paying attention to another’s dilemma, disaster or simply discomfort.
“But she came and worshiped him, pleading again, “Lord, help me!” Jesus responded, “It isn’t right to take food from the children and throw it to the dogs.” She replied, “That’s true, Lord, but even dogs are allowed to eat the scraps that fall beneath their masters’ table.” “Dear woman,” Jesus said to her, “your faith is great. Your request is granted.” And her daughter was instantly healed.” Matthew 15:25-28 NLT
There are many lessons I kept from my work in the “helping profession”. One stands out though, the desperate cry for healing is a common thread between us. “Detours” I used to call them, the choices and circumstances that led to homelessness.
Jesus, on his journey, was often met by unexpected intersections with people in need and bold enough to take a chance on believing in possibility.
The child in the shelter, her mama, the men, women, mothers and children in the Bible.
One thing in common, they decided to believe in the possibility of healing.
And they found it like me, through believing in Jesus, no matter the story my past had already written, seemingly laid out in a fatal ending.
I pray it’s the same with you, this everyday decision not to be bound by your pasts, to continue.
To continue and believe.
To remember, your name is likely scribbled in the corner of someone’s Bible.
“You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.” Psalm 139:3-5 ESV
I lost my earrings, figured I left them in another city or in my exhausted unpacking mistakenly added them to the laundry or trashed them with the junk at the bottom of my purse.
I can be haphazard. I tend to hurry up the getting every thing together, keeping what I can keep under control.
I told my husband I lost them. My way of saying these are very special to me, marking a time of love expressed, rough patch made smooth. I’d misplaced them before, he didn’t seem worried.
Tiny little diamonds, not really of a great amount of worth in dollars, just a memory, their value.
I decided to accept they were gone. I’d really messed up this time, no more mercy in finding what was lost through carelessness.
And then I returned to the place of safekeeping and there they were. The dependable and habitual little tucked away spot, I found them.
The place I hadn’t thought to check in my hectic and hopeless searching, I didn’t go there.
One day this week, I thought about prayer and its worth. I asked God and myself, “Am I even worthy of your hearing my prayer?”
No answer came other than the upward pull of an invisible cord saying, “You are. Continue”.
Continue even if you feel you’ve depleted your mercy reserve, if you feel you’re not steady and straight enough in your path to clearly encounter me and your answer.
Continue to pray even though I know what you need before you plead.
Continue to return to your hopeless/hopeful stance that is an admission of your need for connection with me.
Return to the place you last left me. Return to the place where you found me.
The tiny earrings are still safe. I may wear them today although I have no place to be.
I’ll think of their value to me and I’ll think of my value to God.
I’ll pray in relationship with Him. I’ll pray in a conversation that thanks God for my worth according to Him.
I’ll find my hand touching my earlobes to be reminded that I found what I was certain I had lost.
My room will be quiet and the conversations between God and me will be unspoken, a melody of Him singing to me, a conversation of worth.
“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!” Psalm 139:14-17 ESV
I pray it be so with you, that you embrace the preciousness God knows of you. That you find Him in the place of wherever and whenever prayer. He is open to your conversation.
As I painted, the painting went from soft mossy green to blue. What began as “Your New Name” moved towards a change, a new name born of a feeling,
Thoughts of doubt and waiting to see what may develop led to the change. The painting became. “Melancholy Day”.
What originally evolved from imaginative thoughts of what Eden would look like to Eve if she could return, a visitor who’d been able to forgive herself of her wrong.
A lush garden she’d be standing in, embracing the glorious view.
Instead, the canvas became more blue and representative of my melancholy mood. It’s not that she’s not strong, the female figure conjured by thoughts of Eve.
She’s just stuck for today. Increasingly uncertain of the meaning of her paintings, the value in her work, the question of its worth.
Today, the art is finished. It’s a huge unavoidably melancholy message.
But, morning brings relief and honest understanding.
It was good for the artist to get that out of her system. It was good to pour the blues onto a big enough space.
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 