My word for 2025 sort of lingered like a stranger at the door, uncertain of asking to be invited in. Initially I chose it in a conversation with an art curator. She’d been watching me from a distance. I initiated the messaging. I told her I hoped to develop a clear brand for my art. I used the word “polished”. She assured me that she felt my brand was clear. I suppose I didn’t believe her.
As the months progressed, I pondered the word and why it had chosen me, grabbed my attention.
Here at December’s end, I’ve been holding like a treasure next to my heart, what I’ve learned about my “2025 Word”.
I’ve been protected but I’ve also endured more than usual in terms of how my past trauma refused to be silenced.
Maybe it’s because I said “Yes” to doors that invited me to step forward, to share my artist story and how my trauma both inspires and sort of “dares me” to keep painting.
In many ways, I felt similar although not at all dangerous threats and betrayals. Maybe the old weapons that were still hanging on had to be smoothed down to the almost nothing left to defend against the wounds.
I found a verse a few months ago that helped me accept that being polished had nothing to do with my aesthetic and everything to do with my calling.
“He made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me away.”
Isaiah 49:2 ESV
All year long, I’ve been being readied for more than I ever felt possible. In the waiting, I’ve been protected.
I understand this now and that understanding has led to a word for 2026, “Embrace”.
It may change over the months but to me, it represents me no longer trying to resist the parts of me that are hard stories to acknowledge.
To embrace rather than the incessant need to have it all not be a part of me, to embrace every cell of my makeup as my identity rather than through every effort available to me, try and try to erase it.
To embrace what can’t be erased and to let those parts of my story lend themselves to my creativity, unhindered.
To embrace is to be at ease. To erase requires pressure.
To embrace welcomes change. To erase leaves no chance for redemption’s touch to be made visible.
To embrace is to honor every part. To erase is to abandon the muse, the stories that made me.
I’m unsure how this new mindset might challenge or grow me. I’m certain it won’t be a steady change. It’ll occur in increments.
Are there parts of your story you’re desperate to erase at last and be done?
Can you see yourself deciding to hold it all so very close, the hard and the soft, the ugly and the beautiful, the damage and the restored?
There’s a place on the right as I approach the traffic light on the way home. The road curves and they’ve added an extra blinking one to let you know, you may need to stop.
To the right, a cluster of homes in not very good shape are tucked in a little valley with pathways that became skinny roads like a maze.
Every year as long as I’ve been here, one of the homes is decorated. Colored lights in a row draped around the porch’s flat roof. I smile as I approach. I sort of hope the light’s red so I can pause. I smile.
The homes are mobile and they’re not double, but single in width. They’re trailer homes, floors made from pressed pieces of wood and the walls likely sections of a sort cork, maybe painted a dull green or a muted yellow or beige that was once white.
How do I know?
My first years of motherhood started in a little used trailer we worked to make a home until we moved up and into a bigger one, a double.
I’m not sure I realized it until just this second, the reason I love to see old wooden houses, mobile homes or places that are in need of a little help and yet, they still inhabit joy and they often share it.
There was joy in that little first home of ours, joy in spite of all the other stuff.
This is why I love these bright little places I notice and why I find them so special.
Colored lights on a wooden porch with cement steps, a Frosty or Rudolph in the flower bed, maybe a star barely hanging on to the roof or my favorite, a curtain left open to invite a peek to see their tree.
Even more beautiful, a trio of candles, their glow yellow from age set on a windowsill on purpose for people like me.
I love to see the old and worn out not being forgotten, but loved nevertheless.
So…if you’re out and about, look for these little “lights in the darkness” instead of the fancy LED battery and timer manipulated displays.
Look for the shiny houses, the ones sharing their imperfect display and sharing it in a most joyful way.
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.”
Waiting For Me
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.
Coming Soon
“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?).
It all comes together
“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.”
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.
my morning corner
“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.
Several days ago, someone purchased a tiny angel painting. This collector was a little girl with a tiny little coin purse. Her mom suggested she choose between two and she looked over decidedly at me saying, “This one.” Her mom smiled and announced to her, “You’ve just begun your very own art collection!”
I’m recalling her precious smile as I pause to see the title of a painting unintentionally changed from “All in All” to “Texas Angel”. The caption included in the email from the printer has now become the name of this painting and I couldn’t be more pleased.
Like many of you, I’ve been moved to tears by the floods in Texas, the images of sweet faces and the devastation. I decided to create an angel, one created with torn paper pieces, layered on colors of earthen green mixed with vibrant tones. I decided to offer this painting in collaboration with The Scouted Studio, an online studio for which I’m grateful to be represented by. We decided to donate 100% of the proceeds to flood relief efforts and support. As a former nonprofit director, I reached out to Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country. All proceeds will be donated to this Foundation.
Here’s how you can be involved in this support.
Visit the link to The Scouted Studio purchase an 11×14 print, signed and numbered by me. The availability of the print is limited to 75 and the time range is 7 (just four days now) The print is priced at just $70.
Thank you joining hands and hearts with Hayley Price White, owner of The Scouted Studio and I in this endeavor to help in some small way. We recognize that this contribution is so very small a response to such enormous physical and emotional need. Still, we know that to do “small things with great love” leads to impacts we will never know.
Thank you for being here.
Lisa (Anne)
P.S. I’m juggling Substack, Squarespace, a second children’s book idea, a book proposal for nonfiction combined with art and hoping to be loyal to those of you here. (Not mention aging, grandmothering and well, life)
I’m grateful for the grace of you still being here.
I told God I was disappointed and He answered, “I know.”
Not like a sound, not a breath of breeze across my cheek or the gift of a better tangible thing.
No, He answered with a shift in emotions, a soft invitation to acceptance and acknowledgement of my worth according to him and according to newfound and not new at all friends.
I really wanted to be among the thirty or so selected. It was my third year and I’d been hoping the “third time’s a charm” would prove wrong the “bad things in 3’s” old saying.
So, I talked to God and He reminded that hours before I’d thought about the possible what if’s if I was selected.
Things like what if I go and learn my work doesn’t really belong?
What if the evidence of me striving to be seen ends up making me want to hide?
These thoughts later said, “I was helping your heart get ready for rejection. I was hoping to ease you toward acceptance”.
I woke today thinking “return to small things”, become small like a child growing through no effort of their own, become small like the tiny seed that you are that needs nourishment not neglect.
Return to small by not doing so many things, just doing the ones that are just right for you, very well.
I’m smiling because out of the blue, “The Three Bears” makes perfect sense. Goldilocks entered a place she didn’t live. Curiosity led her to open the door. She roamed around exploring every inch and forced herself to fit in spaces too limiting, then places too big and then she found the “just right” spots and she rested.
I’m just as surprised as you may be that I’d be sharing a fairytale about a girl in a home owned by bears.
But, here’s where God is nudging me. To abandon some places and return and reside in others.
What this means is I may be less visible on Instagram.
I’m returning here and leaving Substack for my writing. Yes, I could “live” in both places but again, I feel God saying simplify.
I know this choice is not popular or trendy. Still, my words and those who’ve read them have been here in this space for quite a long time.
I think this is the “just right” fit.
I won’t use AI. It may be just me but I really can see the difference in the words of others and I don’t want mine to not “be me”.
I’m returning to my email sent through my Quiet Confidence Art site and I don’t know if anyone will notice or wish I’d make up my mind. I hope so and I hope not.
I hope to blog more there, specifics about my artwork, what inspires me redemptively.
This morning’s “first thoughts”…
So, if you’ve read this far, you’ve been invited in to the way God woke me this morning.
To grow, I must return to being small.
To cooperate with God in the ministry of art, it must be about tending the soil he’s assigned to me and not scattering myself in every place I can be, every open field I see.
To be an observer and a participant in God’s purpose to prosper me I must understand the gift of humility, rather than confuse it with so many other self-defeating mindsets.
To see Quiet Confidence Art be what God sees, I must cherish the tiny seed of it, I must love it freely and unconditionally.
I must let my art define and express redemption, hope and peace rather than define the worth of me.
You most likely will notice the small changes I’m going to make with going back to a more simple email and deciding what edits are needed everywhere else.
Just know I heard and am listening to “to grow you must become more small”.
You must do what you do best.
You must stay still, stay quiet, be confident in this as you grow strong in your artistry, not in comparison to everyone else.
If you follow my art, my ministry therein, you’ll see simplification there too.
If you’d like to follow along, just add your email on my About Page. (Link below).
Yesterday, I chose the butterfly cup. As I daily do I considered which cup to set the tone for the day.
Lovingly Torn
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.
Flourishing I , the hem
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.
Becoming
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
I’ve been kinda cuddling my “word of the year” for a couple of weeks.
Because it’s surprising, the way it came to mind and then enlightened me.
Someone commented on instagram several weeks ago. Their words about my art were kind and I simply added that I wanted to continue to grow.
And that I hoped to continue to be authentic in 2025 and also to become more “polished” in my brand and my presence.
A goal, a motivation of sorts.
Then, as I often do, I wondered what my Bible said about the word.
I typed “polished” into the search block and the verse that resulted has led to exploration.
“He made my mouth like a sharpened sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me into a polished arrow and concealed me in his quiver.”
Isaiah 49:2 NIV
There was already a sketch in the margin here, a woman in a purple gown with brown hair.
This morning, I found the page in my Bible with all the “words of the year” scribbled and haphazardly jotted.
I made a list, there were nine. The words, in a way predictably yearning.
Breakthrough, Still, Faithful, Endurance, Victorious, Willing, Small Things…
In 2024 I had trouble committing. I started with Limitless and mid-year shifted to Quietly.
“Polished”, I’m believing, is a word that’s different.
2024 was a hard year for me. I won’t weigh you down with why.
There was just a lot of processing what had been held hidden, a lot of smoothing tucked away rough edges, and even more succumbing to acceptance of certain truths that were meant to lead to change.
Closed doors of my heart were allowed the peering in by my Father.
“Polished”.
The scripture (I’ll remind you I’m not theologically educated) speaks of an arrow that has been readied and then safely protected in the quiver.
Polished and protected for the intended target only God knows.
Do I know what 2025 holds for my artwork and my writing?
Not at all.
I only know I’ve been readied.
I’ve been polished.
I’ve been kept in the Lord’s quiver.
The preparations have led to a polished arrow, me available in the timing and destination decided by God.
My word for 2025 found me. I didn’t go searching or choose because of my struggles or my longings.
It came by surprise.
I thought I was talking about my art. I see it was and is me.
When I tweaked the words on the About page of my Artist website, I had really no idea of the reason.
I knew I wanted to “offer hope” to others through my paintings.
I also knew it wasn’t really within my power to produce hope for others.
Especially when I’d been in a season of waning hope.
Still, I embraced it as a brand, ordered stickers to use on my packaging and even put a sticker on the back window of my car.
I envisioned people passing by and in some small way, a little circle sticker might lead to a belief in the power of hope.
Sure, “Lisa Anne Tindal – Fine Art” is under the two words; but, my name is in the tiniest of fonts.
How do you feel about hope?
Is it just a fluttery little word like a tender feather or do you understand the weight of deciding its importance.
I’m beginning to see it more as a choice we can make, an outreached hand of goodness for the taking.
I’m beginning to understand that to “defer” hope doesn’t mean you decide “oh,well…maybe not”.
It means deciding to give up.
Morning Mercy
It’s so very easy to focus inward on all the secret longings and doubts, an inventory of inwardness. When I focus upward and outward, I notice things other than myself.
It’s a practice that seems small but makes a big difference.
What have you stopped hoping for?
God keeps bringing me to the phrase “deferred hope”.
Is there a secret you’re keeping? Are you doubtful and desperate but doing your best for others not to know?
Because God is a God of hope, if we postpone or decide there’s no hope, we’re essentially “deferring” our belief in God.
Hope today.
Decide to be intentionally hopeful that God is near, loves us and is only good.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12 ESV
For a woman who recalls little girl church being a place more of unbelonging than one of welcoming invitation, more of shouting than speaking…some words and concepts have always felt too special for me.
Being “consecrated” or living a life that can be defined as consecrated seems way too high and mighty and too out of my timid and torridly lived life to believe.
It was never taught that it was good to be strong, only honorable to be tiny and weak.
Last Saturday morning the house was quiet.
Ornaments I’d reimagined and repainted were laid out and tied with gold ribbon.
The morning light was pretty. I photographed them one by one on a white backdrop of poster board.
Carefully edited them and added to my website. Then I settled on the floor and moved to lie down, my face resting on the carpet.
The Angels
I prayed an honest prayer:
“Lord, I consecrate these ornaments to you. I consecrate my art to you.
I don’t know what that means, Lord. It feels too out of my realm, too out of my reach. Still, I consecrate my life to you…even if it feels too special for me, too much for me to understand.”
I rose from the floor, gathered up all the pretty ornaments and moved to the next thing of the day.
Then the collection of Angel Ornaments, numbered 1-7 sold out in an hour.
I am beginning to understand the simplicity of simply giving something to God and going on with an internal hope.
To believe such pretty words could be mine to trust in.
Because deciding not to hope or deciding a life in rhythm with God is just too special and unattainable is deciding to live in scarcity
rather than abundance.
And it’s a choice we’re invited to make, never one made as the result of a harsh or heavy-handed or demanding God.
That’s the truth.
The truth we can believe.
“The consecrated life is a life let go of …a life that opens its heart and hands to the Sovereign God’s knowledge of me completely. The consecrated life trusts that the Maker of me knows me best and knows best.”
Maybe you’re still that little girl with the ingrained rants in your head that you’re just too impure, too damaged, too from the wrong side of the tracks, too destined to repeat the things genetics and environment said you would…
And maybe you have.
And maybe you survived it all.
The reason is that hope and that tiny flicker of purpose, the light that may have dimmed.
But never has and never will go out.
Let yourself let it shine.
Hope always.
Always hope.
Not a single one of us is unfit for being drawn closer to that consecrated life.
It’s a choice without exclusions or preselected expectations.
If hope “deferred” (decided against) makes our hearts sick, how much more well will we be if we believe in hope
Disclaimer: There’s honest mention of eating disordered behaviors in this post. My intent is always, offer hope, not remind of harm. I pray so.
A large painting in progress leans against the fireplace. A practice of mine is to gaze over at an in progress piece or a finished one to decide if “I like what it says”.
This one began subdued and starkly pure in tones, white, ivory, subtle gold and the strong dark grey.
Now, it’s in a different in progress stage, almost done and more strong in color.
A Corner Detail
Years ago, I wrote a blog post chronicling an encounter with a man who was a splendid storyteller. He was very much a fan of the word “nevertheless”.
He shared his life story in incremental pauses introduced by the word.
I’ve since learned to love the word.
Last week, I stared at my unnamed painting. I knew its story was unfinished and I’d need to be intentional; nevertheless, not force its completion.
As I pondered the piece, a thought and words came.
“You’re worth fighting for, Lisa. You may have never heard those words, but you are and you’ve been ‘worth fighting for’ for all of your life.” Journal entry 5/10/24
So serious. Yes, I know.
Too serious to write about has been my thought.
Nevertheless, there was a new clarity in those never before uttered words.
And I saw the figures in the painting, two angelic and others onlooking in strength and love and that’s what I saw in the little brown-haired girl.
Me.
Her sweet and shy acceptance of that truth she’d made progress in believing but still had a ways to go,
To keep believing, nevertheless.
To keep believing so that she could overcome even more.
Not overcome to be bold or brave or boastful but because overcoming symbolized more.
Led and leads to more.
You are worth overcoming whatever is trying to overcome you.
Worthy of Overcoming
A few weeks ago I had my first physical with all the bloodwork in several years. A new physician, one recommended by two trusted friends, asked me a question I’d not been asked in decades.
She asked “How is your eating disorder?”
And I sat quietly, I looked intently into her kind face and I answered.
“So good, I am doing so good. It’s been close to 35 years since I’ve had any of those patterns. I’m so glad.”
She nodded.
And waited and I added,
“But there was a moment a few weeks ago. I was home alone. I was feeling less than, feeling the rejection that comes sometimes when we are vulnerable in life and art. I was standing in my kitchen and thought, eat all the butter pecan ice cream and balance it with a bag of burgers and then just throw it all up.”
She listened.
And I added,
“But, I didn’t even though for a moment…not more, I could feel in control, I could punish myself and I could treat food like the love I felt was missing.”
I thanked her for asking. I meant it.
For believing I was worth the question.
And for the way the question led to the remembrance of this realization.
You’re worth fighting for.
Another Corner (in progress)
What are you battling that requires the lasting embrace of this truth that God has never given up on you?
Don’t give up on yourself.
Get back in there and fight to be aligned with His sweet and sovereign idea of you.
Because I’m convinced this is the key that will unlock the door and that the big deadbolt that keeps the door barred to wellness in our bodies and souls is this…
Insecurity
Insecurity is the voice of your foe. Insecurity blocks the door. Insecurity says “You’re not worth fighting for.”
And insecurity hides in depression, loneliness, hides in a careless attitude about our unhealthy choices,
It hides in the belief that to advocate for oneself is prideful and not humble, is haughty, not meek.
Insecurity says God’s tired of me, tired of listening to me battle this thing,
Insecurity says maybe God doesn’t care anymore, why should I?
“As long as I live I’ll keep praying to him, for he stoops down to listen to my heart’s cry.” Psalms 116:2 TPT
I promise you, I’d not be sharing these words if God would’ve let me forget them by now.
Nevertheless, I sat in my morning spot, quiet and a little sullen and I heard deep in my soul, the words I’d never heard…
You’re worth fighting for, Lisa
And I answered, wrote him a note with a little girl tone, like a bedtime prayer.
“Thank you, God for helping me be stronger now, to decide I’m worth fighting for.”
You are too.
Believe it.
Continue and believe.
(Sermon to self always first because I stumble too. We all stumble in many ways and most every day.)
Surrender.
“The Lord preserves the simple; when I was brought low, he saved me.” Psalm 116:6 ESV
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.
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 