Peace

Won’t Stop Believing

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, painting, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, testimony, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

“And we know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true; and we are in him who is true, in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.”
‭‭1 John‬ ‭5:20‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Pink Sky Pause

Last night, I sat poolside as the distant sky settled down in a display of pink. I’d walked a long way again, trying not to let the old body with achy joints catch up. Is it humidity or is it age and wear and tear, lack of good habits catching up?

My body is, has been changing.

I stopped social media scrolling when the sky grew more splendid. Stopped reading what researchers are sharing, what believers are noticing, what culture is trying to correct.

People, mostly young ones are conflicted about their faith. Believers are sharing commentaries and YouTubes that resemble apocalyptic horror films. Culture is confusing me about what to follow, have I been following wrong for so long?

Have I not loved well, loved like Jesus?

I returned to the practice of Bible reading today that directs me to an OT passage, Psalms, and a NT passage.

My Bible

II Kings, author unknown, follows the first book called Kings and details “the saga of disobedience” according to my Book Introductions in the back. (My Bible was a gift in 2015. You may know the story. It’s the first one I’ve ever felt the freedom to get honest with, have its honesty lead to my return to art. If you’re curious, it is a Crossway, ESV Journaling Bible)

II Kings, Chapter 9 is a violent one. I won’t pretend to understand it all, the prophesy, the lineage, the murders, the deciding who should be king.

But, I noticed one thing, a revelation type read.

They were looking for peace.

I believe they’d been looking a long time and probably long into the next books and chapters I read, I’ll discover that the people who were far from God kept looking.

Looking for peace.

Before the murders and executions recorded here, seven times there was a question of “Where is peace?” and a proclamation by King Jehu that there’d be no peace until Jezebel was dead.

What do you have to do with peace? Is it peace? Two questions asked repeatedly in five verses. (II Kings 9:17-22)

Jezebel died violently, her remains devoured by dogs and many others were massacred.

More warnings, more rulers, more seeking of peace.

I’m not a Bible scholar. I seek to understand what God is saying to me to clarify my confusion, to comfort my dismay, to guide me into Christlikeness.

So that I can be at peace.

So that I can emanate peace through my believing, toward others and I hope, through art.

Little Churches

The back of my Bible guide led to Psalm 141 and then the books of John just before the tiny Book of Jude.

“But my eyes are toward you, O God, my Lord; in you I seek refuge; leave me not defenseless!”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭141:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Second John is a letter written to a lady and her children (likely, a congregation). I found this to have a sweetness in tone, the offering of grace, mercy and peace, along with a gentle warning of what not to let in my house.

“Everyone who goes on ahead and does not abide in the teaching of Christ, does not have God. Whoever abides in the teaching has both the Father and the Son. If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not receive him into your house or give him any greeting,”
‭‭2 John‬ ‭1:9-10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The wolf at the door, the author of confusion, the purveyor of doubt, the stirrer up of strife and trauma triggers.

I won’t let him in my house.

“And behold, I am coming soon. Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy of this book.” Jesus
‭‭Revelation‬ ‭22:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I won’t stop believing.

Believing in the creator of pink sunsets, precious babies, quiet oceans, and people like me who almost gave up on themselves.

I won’t stop believing.

I pray you don’t either.

Dear God, return us as we wander from you, caught in the tension of what others say of you and our embrace of who you’ve shown us you are. May we remember and return to the notice of you all around us. Help us to pause from the noise of culture to seek you, the path to peace. Because of mercy, Amen

Alone With My Faith

Abuse Survivor, beach, confidence, contentment, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, testimony, traumatriggers, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Edisto Beach Shells

I woke without alarm and quietly found my clothes. Carefully, I remembered the sandals were on top. The contacts were turned right side up and the bathroom window gave enough light for a splash of cold water on my cheeks.

The old door creaked as I closed it. Bare feet on the steps, I saw the pink behind me as I thought nothing of walking alone on our last vacation morning.

The promise of grandeur was kept. I thought if I could touch the far away sun, I’d never let go.

Edisto Beach

Decided that’s why we’re not made to hold such things, we’d cling so fiercely we might never see from a distant perspective.

“How deep is your faith?”

I asked myself this morning, the question in the tune of the Bee Gee’s song.

Edisto Beach

Riding home from a week away, I enjoyed what my husband calls a “conversation hiatus”, a thing he will never fully understand. I’m just glad he allows it. I thrive on quiet. I require a flushing of the mental overload, a reset of sorts, a not always pleasant assessment of events, conversations, interactions and pushed to the side for later thoughts.

Processing, becoming prayers. Seeing from a distance, not holding tight or looking too close.

Heal what is hurting. Mend what is broken. Speak what needs to be heard. Continue with me, Lord, these lessons I might begin to live, to teach.

Edisto Beach

Find me, Lord, where I left you.

Keep changing my perspective, Father. Keep redeeming what is not mine to remake.

Psalm 23 became a plea in a hospital bed for me back in 2019. Maybe I made it more than it was, the scary episode of vertigo that refused to quit. Likely, I did make it bigger than it was.

Because it wasn’t the episode, it was the fear. It was the trigger of being forced to quit or being grabbed and shaken, being unable to escape a violent grip.

Over and over for months, I said to myself.

“The Lord is my shepherd. I have everything I need.”, taking the opening line of a well known Psalm and making it mine.

Now, I prefer a different translation.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23:1‬ ‭ESV‬‬

One that reminds me no matter what, how, or when…I shall not be in want.

My faith will and has sustained me.

In the morning when I rise, I’ll keep considering my perspective. In all that affects me, I will pause and examine the ways I have changed.

I’ll give myself a minute and I’ll ask, “How deep is your faith.”

Knowing that’s all that matters and knowing that’s all and only what makes me, me.

And I shall not want.

“…that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭2:3‬ ‭ESV

Edisto Birds

I shall continue.

Continue and believe.

Hope you do too.

Looking For Day

anxiety, beach, birds, contentment, courage, family, hope, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Windows without screens were raised in the dark. No breeze through the night, only murmurs of others and the occasional firefly spark.

Someone had an accident, downed a power pole they say fueled the entire island.

Streets welcomed walkers, children giggled and competed on their bicycles. We joined the porch sitters who hoped it wouldn’t take long.

All night long was powerless, no covers, nothing but time for intermittent prayers and mind wondering worries, sleeping in our undies with the door open.

Morning began with the chatter of insects, birds, other sounds I had no idea signaled the morning to wake up.

I tiptoed through the beach house and decided to go, to go find the new day, the sea and birds.

And they came and kept coming, their flight like a dance and a song.

God’s hands on the harp, the long and low strokes causing melody and chorus.

Rhythm.

The lifting of the wings, the beaks straight and strong, the dipping down and the floating back up

Crescendo.

And I, with no charge on my phone for more photos, making it 10,001.

But, these and this came before

Saying, sit and rest.

The show is not yet done.

The morning after the blackout night, windows open and a mind that refused to be quiet.

The electricity returned before morning and rather than sleep I went looking for God, looking for day.

I believe I will again tomorrow.

Sit in the awe and wonder, listen to God.

“In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly.”
‭‭Psalm ‬ ‭5:3‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Where’s Peace?

anxiety, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

The ceiling fan is whirring, kitten calm and purring. Sounds from down the hall tell me my husband is stirring.

I’ve just been reading about hope and twirling my feet in circles, a quiet quirky habit.

Stopping by a friend’s home last week, she mentioned her husband’s in the bedroom watching the news. I stopped myself before saying, “Tell him to stop watching the news.”

Seconds later he came down the hallway, disheveled and dazed. I thought, “See, told ya so.”

I didn’t.

Maybe he was actually napping, lulled into drowsiness by the incessant woeful, panicked argumentative banter.

How, I can’t imagine.

“Return, O my soul, to your rest; for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭116:7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Because there’s a stirring up all around us, a critical chatter and a dull humming dread.

It’s a choice to decide on different.

To know our souls must rest.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.”
‭‭Romans‬ ‭15:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I hope you rest today, tomorrow and the next.

I hope you care for your soul.

Linking up with other writers, prompted by the word “stir”.

https://fiveminutefriday.com/2022/06/09/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-stir/

Keep On

Angels, daughters, Faith, family, grace, grief, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, Trust, wonder

There are four words I treasure and a couple of other phrases too.

“Continue and believe.”

“It wasn’t God’s intention.” and “Keep on.”

The first I came up with to remind myself not to give up on life, myself or my God. The second, wisdom from a friend, helps to make sense of horrific happenings that make no sense at all.

Helps to reconcile what shouldn’t have happened, what went wrong, how you were wronged or what damage went unattended.

Trauma is not God’s intention for us. We move and breathe in a world that’s mean as hell.

When we choose to keep on, we’re deciding whatever “it”’ is or was, was not God’s intention.

There’s solace in this decision, sort of heavenly.

The third, from my mama, mostly unspoken but demonstrated by her tenacity

and stubborn resolve.

I put geraniums in clay pots every summer because I decided they are “mama’s flowers”.

I feel she sees me and sometimes I know that she does.

Mama’s last car was a green Chevy Geo, I think. It was small like a Nova or a Corolla.

She commanded the road, striking out on her own for a couple years, driving as fast as she wanted.

Get in the car and go seemed to be her philosophy.

Yesterday, I got steadily closer to a Chevy Impala driving too slowly. The construction ahead told us to move over. The Chevy just kept on creeping, the shape of the driver was either short, small or leaning in a relaxing swagger I noticed as I came close.

I passed and looked over and in a flash, I saw my mama. The woman with the short hair and the handicap card on the visor had one hand on the wheel and the other lifted to wave a “Hey, girl.” to me.

I wondered where she was going, all alone on a Friday morning. Maybe to get a breakfast biscuit, maybe just gettin’ out for no reason.

I saw her independence.

I saw my mama.

I pulled into the station for gas and as I turned the gas lid to lock, the Impala strangely pulled in behind me.

The woman with the happy cheeks and the knowing eyes waved again and nodded as she smiled, laughing alone in her car.

Just for me.

God was with her and somehow she knew I needed my mama.

The woman in the Chevy saying,

“Keep on, Lisa Anne. Keep on.”

Continue and believe. This is God’s intention.

“Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭23:6‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Comfort, I Pray

Children, courage, Faith, grief, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, tragedy, Trust, Unity, wonder

Elizabeth says, “You love that tree, Grandma.”

I say yes.

When she’s older I’ll tell her that I love the thick branches, the way it’s so old but still strong and I’ll tell her that its green leaves against the ash colored limbs just bring me comfort. I love the way it leans as if resting.

I’ve not misplaced my faith nor have I given up on prayer.

I wrote about helplessness yesterday, about how it feels as if we’ve got no other choice.

I don’t regret my thoughts becoming words and landing here.

It’s my blog after all and all along I’ve only written honestly.

I thought about prayer today, what it is to me and what it does.

A simple prayer was spoken on my knees in the shower last week.

Jesus, please comfort her where she needs it.

Hurtful words had been shared and repeated. Like a pinch on a soft part of your arm that the bully won’t let go, it left a sting.

And I didn’t respond. I thought it better to let it go. I considered what may have caused the harsh words.

I remembered I just can’t know.

When I asked God to comfort, I was comforted. I left it with Him and I no longer felt hurt.

Because I just can’t know.

Tonight, I’m thinking of the Texas families. I’m deficient in understanding and only know from experience with those grieving, this is a long and winding and without navigation road, the death of a child.

So, I ask God to comfort.

I accept my place in this offering of prayer.

I join the chorus of others who pray.

And I have faith in the God who is comforting. Who is mighty, strong, unwaveringly there.

If me deciding against anger and instead inviting God’s comfort to a tiny trivial thing can bring such sweet peace.

I know the angels and armies are stretched wide and locking arms in an answer.

Comfort, we pray.

Broken Prayers

Angels, Children, courage, Faith, family, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, tragedy, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, wonder

“Let’s go on a walk! Get your shoes!” she called out and off we go in a burst of unbridled energy, her heels in the air.

And we walk on the roads bordered by shiny wheat tops and we stay in the “middle….middle, middle, middle”, a song we made up because of country roads, high grass, deep ditches and crawling critters.

We walk a long way.

We’re looking for morning glories.

We spotted one last week.

We caught a butterfly once.

She was tiny then, barely toddling. Her face was a mixture of elation and question. She held that blue edged creature and then we let it go.

Her feet slowed to a pause. “A butterfly!” she spotted and I saw that its bottom wings were torn, sort of shredded.

I picked it up and it sat as if glued to her small finger. Five minutes or more, we talked about it, the broken wing somehow and how I wasn’t sure if it could fly.

Rust colored wings, more moth than butterfly and small, very tiny. It seemed as if my granddaughter was comfort, was safety, was in a way, angelic.

It was mysterious.

It rested, not as if helpless, more assured.

I’ve been thinking about a feeling of vague dread, of inability to put three thoughts together, of being numb to possibility.

When possibility has been so very true for me.

I thought “learned helplessness” and reminded myself of the meaning.

There, that’s it. That’s the feeling, the lack of mental, physical and emotional resources to believe in good again.

Learned helplessness, lulled into a state of whatever I can do or should…

Would it even make a difference?

I wonder if we’re all learning that we’re helpless, that we’re not difference making people after all.

We laid the butterfly down gently and unsure whether it would go to heaven or fly, we told the broken creature goodbye.

Learned helplessness, the two words that made sense to my processing all that’s gone wrong.

The remedy? Recognize it, journal about it, pray, accept what you cannot control.

Therapy, and medication in difficult to treat with self-care because of significant trauma.

This afternoon, I bought apple juice boxes, a book about travel and a flamingo towel for a toddler.

Checked my phone to see notifications on FB and saw “Pray for Texas”, looked further to read the news, the horror, the inconsolable tragic event.

And began to feel sick. Began to think of the innocence of children, the way our world is and has completely set its intention on stealing it.

I can’t adequately add to this conversation. I really can’t.

These are times that words like peace in times of trouble, hope enduring or all things being made new and made sense of by God

Just don’t seem sufficient.

Seem more “who am I to say these things?”

After all, I had a three year old wrap her arms around my neck today and say “It’s a secret, I love you. I love to the moon.” and then say it again, and again.

I felt God near. I felt it was His idea, maybe she saw her grandma feeling slightly broken and held me close.

“I love you.”, not a reply, totally unsolicited.

No words for the Texas tragedy.

I love the Psalms and I treasure the words in red, but just one thought remains.

Pray.

“pray without ceasing,”
‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Pray. It’s “all you can do” and it is everything you can do.

Pray.

Child In You

confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Speak softly to yourself,
“I am a child of God. I am loved and learning.”

Repeat as needed.

Your life is a chorus, a lullaby, a silly dance, a canvas for God’s crayon.

Tell yourself, I am God’s and
He is mine.

There’s a child in you, impossible to be stolen away by any little thing.

Small and tender, bold and brave, wondering and wandering.

Child in you that stays.

Close your eyes.

Sigh. Take a breath. Listen.

Remember a secret sweetest day.

Cherished, you are.

Then and today.

Loved and learning.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.”
‭‭Philippians‬ ‭1:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Childlike

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, happy, hope, love, painting, Peace, Redemption, self-portrait, Vulnerability, wisdom
Lisa Anne

I keep staring at the girl inside the woman. Many will see somber.

I see solid.

Most will question the stare, wonder why so angry.

I see strength, surrender and a commitment to be very sweet to myself.

Little girl bangs was the style or I guess, just easy.

No fussing over Lisa Anne trying to keep up with bows or barrettes.

No ponytails, no braids.

Just a border of brown above two pools of blue

And a pool of freckles

Now age spots and crinkles.

Acceptance

Believing in the child within

Loving the woman she became.

I keep staring into this face.

I’d call it grace or something else.

Can’t decide.

Must be because it’s love.

Noticed on Tuesday

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, happy, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Isn’t it predictable that I’d love the phrase “noticing God”, incorporate it into bios and hashtags and yet, catch myself off guard when a phrase of truth and clarity comes

And I decide to hold on to it?

“God is always paying attention (to me).”

Followers and collectors, listeners, potential buyers of my art and my words

Caused me to be weary over compiling them, the not yet thousands enough.

So, I left that little compilation of numbers alone

And continued to go on

On my own.

Noticing highlighter colored rye fields and yellow flowers becoming fluffy dandelions.

I noticed and celebrated the simplicity of a simple notice.

“Thank you, Lisa Anne Tindal!

I appreciate all your inspiration and insight!” M.H. (a brilliant author)

A gift given to me on her birthday.

“Isn’t it ironic?” A.M.

Or maybe not.

Maybe it’s God.

The same God who provided water to a slave girl trying to escape and a woman enslaved by her patterns with men.

Same God who notices my need to be noticed and says “I see, see with me.”

“Then God opened Hagar’s eyes, and she saw a well full of water. She quickly filled her water container and gave the boy a drink.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭21:19‬ ‭NLT‬

“But sir, you don’t have a rope or a bucket,” she said, “and this well is very deep. Where would you get this living water?”
‭‭John‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭NLT‬‬

It’s not popular to be weary over popularity.

I wonder who else feels the exhaustion of self-promotion and longs to simply keep finding, sharing and creating…

To be thirsty not for notice.

Being light.

Because

God is paying attention to you.

In the sweet spot of knowing you’re noticed so that you’re not thirsting for notice of others and more often than before not as thirsty.

Fill my cup, Lord.

I lift it up to your pink sky Tuesday morning telling me I’m seen loved and known.

Noticed on Tuesday morning,