“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:” Ecclesiastes 3:1 ESV
Before sleep, I rethought the day. All the places and things squeezed in, the storms, the back country roads to my people, my childhood territory.
My aunt caring for my uncle, prone now to suddenly falling. His sweet conversation comparing himself to his soon to be ninety year old brother who “falls more.”
My aunt with her pink soft shirt, leopard print loafers and nice coral colored lipstick lips
I remembered my daughter describing my grandson’s tumble off the porch.
I remembered her saying he cried and was scared but wasn’t hurt.
He likely will fall again.
Likely, my uncle will too,
Unfortunately.
I remembered my granddaughter’s sweet smile. I recalled her intuition.
I drifted to sleep knowing I’d need to decide on an artist trip, an adventure I could learn from the anticipated mostly younger artists.
I thought of the wavering of my feelings.
I remembered a word I read early in the morning.
“There comes a moment when you throw caution to the wind. There comes a moment when you need to go all in.” Mark Batterson
I strangely thought of resilience, of being strong and sure in “my walking” while there’s time.
Because life is so wrought with fragility, likely to include falling and deciding to remember,
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
On the mornings I’m awakened by the birds early, just a couple or three singing outside my window, I sense the key in the door of hope gently turning.
Reminding me I’m never without grace and a decision to privately proclaim,
Today’s a new day!
Birds that dance on the country porch, rest on the arm of the rocker and quickly fly upward when the baby and I decide to get closer.
Their intent it seems is for me to be content in the sighting, not the pursuit.
There’s a verse in my Bible, in the right margin there lives a very faint sketch.
A little country house, yellow with one window and a slight slope of roof, pencil colored gray.
The lines of ink are thin and intentional.
On the roof, there’s a teeny tiny bird.
There are lots of sketches in my Bible that are a bit tender, there are added notes to self that are even more tender.
Someone told me once,
“Your Bible could be in a museum one day.” Drake
This kind soul was not employing flattery, he was and is brave and so very intentional in his observations of life and us as we live it.
Honestly like the psalmist whose words are a juxtaposition of praise and peril, of despair and hope, of beseeching and blessing our God.
The little bird drawing born of timidity in the acknowledgment of loneliness?
“I lie awake; I am like a lonely sparrow on the housetop.” Psalm 102:7 ESV
Oh, how I love a beautiful and brave word.
Months ago, I was gifted a book of Declarations, a compilation of poetic prayers much like the language of the Psalmist.
“Declarations in the Desert – Life Changing Decrees for the Dry and Dusty Valleys of Life” by Tara Sierra Moseley
It’s a book, I’ve read slowly, taking in small doses and then slowly increasing my “treatment”.
It’s a book and a practice in the beginning I decided
I’m not quite there yet spiritually to pray this way, not qualified in the field of faith to pray in such a confident way.
No surprise, this has long been my way of thinking.
Unforced and with ease (the best way for me) I began to pray, to records my words with God as declarations not timid asks or complaints.
Loneliness is a state I’m familiar with. Loneliness, or being alone is a response and a place I’ve often decided is safest for me.
I flee to hide.
I run as fast as I can to avoid conflict or triggers of fears and pain I’ve known.
Running and hiding lead to desperation, not safety, I am beginning to see.
“One thousand will flee at the threat of one, at the threat of five you will flee,
until you alone remain like a solitary pole on a mountaintop or a banner on a hill.” Isaiah 30:17 HCSB
Alone, on a hill
a tree
stripped of its branches.
And still, I’m gently called like a bird in the morning after a night of nightmares, realizing it was loneliness I saw in the eyes of others at a gathering that led to fitful sleep.
Glad that the birds woke me to invite newness.
Return. This is the way.
Let’s walk together.
Let this be your declaration.
A Declaration
Today is a new day. I declare that you’ve never abandoned me. I declare that Your strength allows me to choose strength and that Your strength is always available.
I declare that you’ve never left me on my own and that you’ve not once been unavailable to me.
I declare my bend towards fleeing and freezing is seen and understood by you and You, Lord are still so confident in the future you’ve made for me.
I declare trust and quiet confidence in this becoming increasingly my every moment hope.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you hope in your latter end.” Jeremiah 29:11 RV1885
The first sketches I sketched as a young girl, were of trees.
I never thought I’d paint any other subject. I’m still surprised over the peace I experience in the process of portraying postures of women, redemptive,
It feeds my soul.
Tall pines, big oaks, pecan laden and my favorite in my grandmother’s front yard …the shade providing chinaberry.
Trees are complex. They aren’t easy to capture the likeness of.
I sat quietly in my “morning spot”, a chair in the corner of the living room, a chair that was my mama’s, that was fancy for her double-wide in the country.
She’d bought it at a yard sale. I grabbed it up quickly when she died, I wanted it to live with me, I wanted the beauty of her choosing a fancy chair for her not fancy home, to be something I would never forget.
In a way, a seed she left for me to believe that a life can be pretty despite poverty, that there is always opportunity to believe in finding beautiful things.
I’ve had that chair since 2010. I have heard from God sitting there, thoughts formed, hopes and solutions have come.
I have prayed, I have cried, I have napped from exhaustion sitting straight up in this chair.
Before I knew, was tenderly surprised to be asked to speak here, God told me one morning, in a reply to my heart’s longing to know why it seemed I would never be enough, never achieve enough, never be able to see myself as healed and not a victim of so much and so many things.
The words from God, the gentle awakening?
“Lisa, your soil is not healthy.”
Time passed and I sort of tossed the thought around. Thought of all the things I had planted through my life, my children, my marriage, my work for others, my art, my sharing of my words…
“Seeds” in a way, efforts and actual accomplishments that I contributed to the soil of my life, the things that were from my heart and my soul.
The truth of that very odd thought, my soil not being healthy,
simply would not fade.
Months from the first wrestling to understand the meaning, I have begun to make sense of the strange statement.
So, I want us to consider whether our soil is healthy.
I googled “healthy soil” and “what causes trees to die.”
One answer drew me closer.
THE SOIL MAY BE COMPLICATED.
I made a list of complicated seeds in the soil of my life.
One list, things and circumstances beyond my control, even generational curses and a second list of traits, qualities and choices I have planted and continue to plant.
I realized there were a whole bunch of seeds that needed to die, no longer needed my failing attempts to bring life from brittle seeds or to keep nourishing and watering what I selfishly or naively chose to decide had to live forever…
there were seeds of my sadness that needed to die.
There are seeds of my history that I’ve let mark and destroy my hope for far too long.
Consider with me, what your soil, your soul is full of, seeds planted in you beyond your control and marked by sadness, trauma or likelihoods of how you might or might not grow.
Then consider what you’ve planted, tried to force the growth of or coddled and overwatered…
something that needs to be let go.
Because it’s not so much the THINGS that destroy us, stunt our growth, It’s the THING(S) UNDER THE THING(S)!
The seeds entangled in our roots.
My list:
This process requires bravery. I’ll be brave first.
SEEDS THAT MUST DIE TO ALLOW GROW
• SHAME that dies becomes freedom to live.
• SELF-DESTRUCTIVE PATTERNS that are put to death give permission to receive abundantly and to believe you’re worthy to.
• UNWORTHINESS that dies leads to confidence/confident in God not others.
• ABANDONMENT that is allowed to die and be grieved leads to deeper trust and intimacy in relationships.
• VICTIM MENTALITY finally laid down leads to an ease in living and breathing and to breaking generational cycles, a legacy of safety and love uncompromised by negative mindsets.
• FEAR that doesn’t live but dies builds courage (quiet confidence is your strength, this is the way) keep moving steadily forward.
• NEED TO CONTROL given up from an unclenched grip to let die leads to surrender (open hand to heaven).
• BITTERNESS disallowed and put to death yields mercy toward others.
• JEALOUSY that’s snuffed out before it grows invites kindness and sincerity in our thoughts and words.
• COMPARISON that ceases breathing gives breath to abiding oneness and ownership of the uniqueness of you.
I began to research what the Bible says about seeds and found many passages. I’ll just stick to the one familiar to many.
The Parable of the Seeds (the first recorded parable)
“And he was teaching them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil.
And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away.
Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain.
And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” Mark 4:2, 4-8 ESV
God is sovereign and very aware of the times, every detail of our lives.
When I began thinking of what to share in speaking to women, I had no plan to write about my mama’s chair or the beautiful growth I might see as I surrendered the seed of grief attached to the story of an old yard sale chair and allowed myself to see the beauty of me possessing it.
On the outside and above the gnarled and tangled roots, our lives like a tree may be spectacular or just seem healthy and vibrant.
In time though, the “COMPLICATED” soil of our souls may lead to decay, destruction, and depression.
Every time we share our vulnerabilities lined up with our hopes for healing, we point someone else toward the path of fullness, light and redemption that they glimpse in us.
Truths on the significance of the soil of my soul being healthy, free of the thorns of despair or despondency over past wounds continue to reveal themselves to me.
Walking with my grandson, on the rocky clay road bordered by deep ditches and steep hills covered in brilliant moss, music from my phone in the atmosphere…I paused to shake off a heavy mood.
I quoted to myself a verse that’s meant to turn the tide, a proclamation…
No weapon formed against me shall prosper.
And I walked on, pushing the stroller, the little strawberry blonde head in my view, a pair of tiny feet bouncing to the beat of “Skip to My Loo”.
I walked slowly and thought…
But Lisa, what about the weapons you continue to turn on yourself.
And I stood still with the weight of that call to consider this truth.
Wounds are thorns that become tools, weapons of sorts for us to decide there’s no hope for us,
No outcome other than the expected one we’ve known, the time to grow is over
A life without woundedness is one you’ll never get to know.
There are some weapons we continue to use in fear because of proven past failures against the waiting patiently hope and permission to grow.
Wounds become weapons and weapons stunt our growth.
Wounds become weapons that we turn inward, that we decide are evidence that we’re not allowed to dream, disallowed from hope.
So ask yourself, message me and I’ll send you the tree as a prompt.
How healthy is my soil?
Which seeds are deep and should not be kept alive? Which seeds must die?
Is there woundedness in your life that you turn on yourself to stunt your growth, to destroy your hopes?
In quiet confidence is your strength…this is the way.
I sat in the back next to someone I don’t really know. We shared a casual conversation about pimento cheese spread. Surrounded by art, the meeting’s agenda would be sharing a YouTube film on “beauty”.
We were offered pencils and a piece of paper to jot down thoughts, told to prepare to share in a group discussion.
The poet/researcher in the video mentioned God’s creation, spoke of God’s intent for not only artists, but everyone, to recognize the power of beauty as a way to change us internally and then effect those around us.
The couple just in front of me looked towards one another often in a likemindedness that matched the word “bullshit” he wrote and held up in front of her (and me).
They exited early.
I listened as others gave feedback, sprinkled around the room were comments about architecture, about culture, about our community, about horses.
I thought to add to conversation, to suggest they all begin to notice color and to, if they felt led, to ask God in prayer to help them see color.
I planned to share how this practice and prayer has been a reset for me, spiritually and creatively.
No one had mentioned God.
Three times, maybe four, I raised my hand to be called on.
I wasn’t acknowledged and decided to stay silent.
That it was not a time to speak.
“ a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;” Ecclesiastes 3:7 ESV
To keep the peace I’d acquired and allow it to be a presence without words.
To possibly be peace to others without using my words.
“Did I but live nearer to God, I could be of so much more help.” George Hodges
This morning, a guest blog post on an author’s site has been shared. My words, added to her community of others writing about “beholding our beauty” in the places life places us. I was just so grateful to write inspired by Esther, her bravery and how bravery is a choice we can make every day, even if with uncertainty.
I encourage you to read not only my thoughts, but to engage in this community that Deborah Rutherford is so intentionally building.
On Sunday, a sunny day, my granddaughter and I spread out paper, scissors and ModPodge on a towel. We tore pieces of abstract paintings I loved but had not bought by someone or maybe I’d forgotten I loved them.
We used little strips and squares of color to tell new stories. To allow a new voice to be heard.
Keep living, keep learning.
How God speaks is another mystery that woke me on Monday in the dark, a nagging lack because of hearing others say “God told me.” or “I heard God speak”.
I’ve not experienced God in an audible way.
I’ve heard stories that blow my mind of people who’ve been in situations in need of hope or redirection and God spoke. I’ve read and heard He “speaks” through His Word, both gently and firmly instructive.
I’ve heard about the still and quiet voice that comes and I believe I understand this one well
Me being quiet with no searching for an answer and a thought comes…
Comes in reply to a question that’s been nagging at me.
Once, that voice whispered in my the hallows of my chest…
“It’s gonna be alright.” and the rightness of every worry in my life felt captured in that comfort of a promise. It was a strong promise. I still treasure it.
I smile over it.
This morning, words came and to sum it all up, the words were
“Just keep learning.”
An encounter with a woman I knew from my executive days planted the seed from which this desire has begun slowly growing.
She noticed my artwork and then as she passed through the crowd to leave, said across the room…
“I just read your story.”
I was confused. How did she read the “Artist Story” I sometimes point to when people ask, “How’d you become an artist?”
Later, I realized she’d only read the sweet story of the “cake with you Mama day”.
And, I realized slowly, I was happy that’s the only story she’d read.
This morning, I thought, sensed the coming together of thoughts and God speaking…
It’s been enough time now, enough time has passed.
The story of how you “came back to painting” no longer needs to include the hard and horrible parts.
You’ve grown to dislike the telling of this story.
Instead, when asked, the answer could be…
I’ve been painting seriously about seven years and I keep growing and trying to make good choices.
I keep learning
And I am a student of that desire to keep learning. I have grown.
I am still growing. And that’s the only requirement that is given to me by myself…to be me as artist, writer, mother, wife, grandmother or friend…follower of Jesus.
To be brave enough
To keep learning.
(It may be time to add a chapter or replace the old one altogether, at least edit it with a pen called kindness.)
It may be time to “turn the page” to the beauty of my story with only a tiny nod to the ugly.
It may be time to stop circling back to the places you struggled, the places you failed and fell.
It may be time to say less.
It may be time to edit your story of whatever you’ve taken on as a measure of you finally not just battling in becoming
But arriving.
Motherhood Author Teacher Settled Career Wife Friend Ministry Leader Artist Chef Athlete
Nurse Husband Girlfriend Boyfriend Instructor of Others
Retiree simply “being a light” Aunt Uncle Counselor Advocate
Son
Musician Sharer of your life with others
Daughter
Student of whatever
You are arriving,
you can take a breath.
The only requirement God has is A decision to keep learning.
To imperfectly decide
not to give up.
And to do so with love.
“…It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously.”
To see more clearly, I must simply gaze more faithfully.
I’ve just completed an application to be an artist vendor at an April event.
I have a list of other places I and my art may “get to be” and one I was selected for and am a day late on the paperwork. I’ve just emailed the coordinator and said a solid silent prayer.
It’s okay if I’m not there. There are other places I should be and you know these, Lord.
Tiny Words
I’m of the age I can see far away only with my contacts in and to read I suddenly am learning neither glasses nor contacts are beneficial. I toss them off, they are no help.
I see best up close, reading or painting with simply my naked eye.
I see what is needed to be seen by me, nothing more and only what’s very close.
I see just enough.
My Place
My focus is on what is near.
What is now, not in the distant future, not beyond my reach or my vision.
And so, I can give myself grace and permission to simply and quietly do what is mine to do in my “present place”.
Cakes, Mamas and Remembrance
“Act faithfully according to thy degree of light, and what God giveth thee to see; and thou shalt see more clearly.” Edward D. Pusey
Walking, listening, with an attentive ear and vision only committed to faithfully see what’s not too far to see, only just in front of me.
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” Isaiah 30:21 ESV
I’m joining other writers today in the Five Minute Friday community, prompted by the word “Far”
It’s the time of year that God allows a sprinkling here and there of soft green woven “pillows”. I know there’s a name for them. I can’t remember it. I just find them so pretty. I tiptoe around them, aware of what I see as fragility.
We walked carefully over the tangled vines and fallen branches. Toddler, Henry in his little boots smaller than my hand. I let him venture barely three steps away from me then wrapped him in my arms to be sure he didn’t high tail it to the place his curiosity was calling.
I heard the water, the creek too shielded by overgrowth to see and too uncertain for us to go seeking. So, we just circled round and round, he intent on going deeper in and me, scooping him up to walk where it was more safe and clear.
He resisted yielding again and again.
The unknown and interesting was a steady call to his little investigative mind.
As if to say, I need to know, I need to see, it must be really special, this place I can’t see, these things I don’t yet know.
Yet, it was too risky for us to go, too unsafe for him to go alone.
I wonder why there’s such resistance to yielding. Why I’m so prone to striking out on my own in fits of figure it out or fix it before it’s too late.
When all that’s required, all that’s an absolute undeserved gift,
Is to yield.
This morning, I flipped to today in “Jesus Calling”, a kind and beautifully patient collection of words I’ll carry as I go, one open hand to heaven and the other secretly imagining my hand like a child’s reaching up again to the suggestion of my Savior,
“Hold my hand.”
“As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.”
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 