When December came, I willed myself to move toward Christmas in a more hopeful way. I’d read somewhere to look for “enjoyment” not to pursue perfection in my home, my gatherings, my notice of life all around me.
I have had one particular Christmas that I tended to decide my uncertain feelings about Christmas because of.
This year, God put an expression in my heart and as the days of December unfolded, it became my solid truth, my olive branch of peace to receive and to offer up.
“It won’t always be this way.”
This is the truth, friends.
Meaning that Christmas as a six or seven year old that was scary and scarring is long past.
All of us lined up in a row, the question my mama asked, “Who do you want to be with, me or your daddy?” The tiny little brown station wagon loaded down and pointed in the direction of leaving never left, nor did any of us kids. It was not my mama’s finest moment, it wasn’t mine either. But, oh the moments and the Christmases since. They’ve been a mixture for sure of ugly and pretty. Still, hope has never left me, has always come ‘round again.
I don’t have to fight for Christmas to be good, I don’t have to prepare for sadness, despair or even illness simply because those things have happened at Christmases before.
Christmas days in hospitals or bedside with illness or in bed yourself may have happened and may again.
Christmas next year won’t be exactly as it was a few days ago. It may be sweeter, there may be hardship, the people who are present and the times we are together may require acceptance and change.
This is life. Life is a good gift.
I’m missing so many moments as far as having “moment” photos, the goal.
Moments like standing next to my worshipful daughter singing “Joy to the World” in candlelight. Like the room filled with people as my brother offered prayer. Like the faces of all the babies when the paper was ripped and spread all over the room. Like the expressions of those I love in conversations about life now and in the coming year and although the word wasn’t spoken…evidence of redemption.
Those were moments not fit for pointing a camera at, those were moments stored up in hearts.
Hearts that are reservoirs of hope.
Mine is full. I pray theirs is too.
And you. Living in light of it all.
I wasn’t sure how Christmas would be this year. Nor can I be sure of the next.
December always makes me remember Merle Haggard, the hope of makin’ it until then and the days being brighter days once we’re there.
Yesterday, I thought of six words that I could call my December memoir.
Not a finish
A clearer path
There are places in the country I won’t walk with the babies.
Surprising, I guess because I’m sort of a rebel when it comes to strikin’ out on a walk.
“I’ll figure it out!” I’m known to announce.
I have memories of the year I lived with my mama and daddy, a period of seeking wellness from self-destructive eating.
I can’t tell you how many miles it was…
the circle of dirt road that began at my grandma’s house, through the peanut field, past the creek, up the hill, past the “shack”, past the farmer who wanted to date me’s house, through the weeds, around the curve to the lake where the rough people lived and past my Aunt Marie’s to be back home again.
It was way too far for a woman, young and with a reputation, to walk alone.
I was thin. I was lost. I was lonely.
Thinking back, it wasn’t health I was seeking, it was simply more self-destruction.
Trying to have my life match what I decided it was worth…not much at all.
That’s a hard pill to acknowledge. This meandering search I’ve sought, mostly taught, some stubbornly chosen.
“Self-destruction is an addictive behavior.” Rita Springer
I heard this truth last week.
And I’m kinda blown away by the resonance.
The truth that it’s not one specific or stereotypically thought addictive behavior that is addictive. Instead, it’s any and all of our choices and responses to life and our people and places in life, that lead us to this well worn and not so safe path.
I made a list. I love a list.
A list with words that may either seem too normal, not destructive or may seem like they aren’t choices that can become addictive, intentional choices we continue that are self-destructive.
I suppose I should soften this…no one wants to be told they are “self-destructive”.
How about behaviors that aren’t good for our bodies and souls?
Choices that don’t cherish the truth that our bodies are the temples of the Holy Spirit. Paul doesn’t sound too positive when he warns us.
But, have you ever noticed that he begins and ends his letters with a prayer that we’d all have the knowledge of God’s grace, His love?
“Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.” 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 ESV
Not so soft a warning, I thought.
So, back to the list, maybe an inventory year end of subtle and not so subtle self-destructive behaviors.
I chose a different header, kinder wording.
I chose
“What is NOT giving you quiet confidence and strength in God, in your choices these days?”
Accepting unkindness (abuse) in relationships
Taking on too much to please others and thereby determine your worth
Bad health, diet habits
Too much looking for good on a phone
Procrastination in regards to God’s nudges
Habitual time with God without reverence, sort of rote
Junk TV that takes my focus on God in me and puts it on the crazy or interesting lives of others (I love reality TV)
Clutter (mental and otherwise)
How are these self-destructive? Mostly because they have a tendency of putting God’s voice on “mute” in my daily life.
So, how do we move through our days, through December with a hope for the coming days.
I’m learning there’s one more important thing.
See suffering as fellowship with Jesus.
You may have heard all things are worked for good and you might have actually known people who say so.
But, do we really believe that they believe this?
Paul wrote about this fellowship.
“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,”
Philippians 3:8-10 ESV
Suffering has its gift.
Faith not in ourselves but in Christ
Sharing in His sufferings.
Becoming Christlike, a privilege really, not hardship (?)
That’s hard, not easy.
I’m not great at this. I avoid suffering with a well learned and established skill to be hyper vigilant.
Yesterday, baby Henry wanted to walk, not be strolled. He burst forward on toddling feet in socks, not shoes on the rocky path.
In the distance, a black thread laced across the path. I stood and watched, turned the baby back towards home and turned him back again. He was intent on forward, moving steady down the path.
The dog didn’t bark. The black snake made its way into the brush.
And we lingered and walked slowly in a rhythm of walking away from home and then turning back to home.
There was no need to hurry.
No need to fear. We were safe.
God was near.
There was no fight to be fought, nothing but us and the breeze and wide blue sky above us, God enveloping us and our faith in His ever present love.
“When we wrap the language of war around our suffering, it becomes a battle to be won rather than our experiences to be processed.” Katherine Wolf
I’ve never been good at fighting, only at sullenly retreating.
We weren’t made to fight, only to be faithful.
“For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.” Isaiah 30:15-18 ESV
“I sense God bringing a truth to me, a reminder or a nudge to consider the value of just a few words, often the words of Jesus and I just decide to share them, thinking someone else may need them too.”
This is my response when someone tells me my honest reflection or interpretation of scripture was timely for them.
Often, it is surprising.
“Go in Peace” feels like a gentle well wish, a suggestion or saying.
But it’s more like a commandment.
You came, you believed, you sought healing, you were healed.
You are healed.
Go in Peace.
To purchase this calendar dedicated to my granddaughters and every woman created to live freely in the embrace of God, to go in peace, click the link below.
I’m reading a book my sister recommended and thinking there was a time I would never have read it.
A struggle between good and evil would’ve decidedly led to me deciding it was evil and putting it on the shelf, washing my hands of it.
The author can’t decide whether she believes God exists.
It wouldn’t be hatred of her or even judgment that would’ve have led to my banning of her book, of her.
It would be a tangible fear, a fear that the thoughts and questions of another might somehow taint my mind, lead me forever astray.
I might “be in trouble”.
You see, there are choices embedded in me, pounded into my head and heart by the angry preacher yelling at me, a chubby adolescent, an intimidated child who just wanted to belong.
To be safe and loved.
And learned to believe that according to God, to belong meant finding wrong in others, telling them about their sin and then never ever associating with such a person.
That’s why I still have this fear that a writer or just a person different than me, might somehow have the special powers to lure me, change me, make me unacceptable to God.
To be unlovable.
I think often of how this fear of being not faith filled enough, about being certain of being right and all the others wrong
Kinda caused me to make some unkind conclusions about others.
To utter unkind words.
Thinking their faith was false when I had no idea or evidence of such.
It was just a response that came from a mark left on a little girl.
Girl becoming a woman seeking perfection to avoid shame, girl becoming woman who waited to be condemned, never comforted.
Girl becoming a woman who always felt but only recently told God so…
“I feel like you’re punishing me, God.”
A woman with a tear soaked face who rose from the floor better for telling God so.
Sensing Him say, “I knew you felt that way, now you’re feeling better already because you weren’t afraid to tell me.”
And that feeling was very certain. God, you love me after all.
The author, Kelly Corrigan in her chapter of her book “Tell Me More” explores the simple response, “I don’t know.”
And it’s an honest choice she expresses.
A private one too.
I’m certain of God’s love. I have more reasons than that memoir idea I keep dancing around would have space for.
I do believe.
It’s a choice and on questioning days I ask God with raw honesty, the questions I used to believe I’d go straight to Hell for even having.
My faith is a winding path, has been mostly.
But, I’m beginning to notice with certainty that the path is becoming more simple, more solid, more sure.
And I’m certain that straightaway road has come in gradual honesty, brave questions and a settled stillness to open my heart and mind, no longer afraid to wonder.
Continue and believe.
Your life, every bit of it is your teacher, your listening and patient guide.
I barely missed a couple of deer. Now that morning is coming sooner, I was less observant, less cautious.
Less expectant.
The couple ran together to my left in the harvested corn field. Flying through the air it seemed.
Yes, like dusty brown doves, not deer.
When the timing was right, they danced over the road in front of me just as the curve turned right to my daughter’s home.
Then, I watched expectantly for them to run back the other way, to cross the lane to the more wooded field.
But, they didn’t. They must’ve decided to continue to a better place, maybe one that felt safer.
Possibly down in the corner, the valley near the creek.
The spot I’ve set my gaze on from the kitchen window.
The place where just one tall tree in the mix of many beckons me to be still.
To notice the vivid gold.
When I understand the meaning of hope without knowing, simply hoping.
I can live expectantly.
Not expectant of celebratory good nor of sorrowful negative or even tragic.
I can understand hope as being a promise that will be kept because the Spirit of God knows.
Knows my longings. Knows me.
Knows all.
“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.
For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.
And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called
according to his purpose.” Romans 8:25-28 ESV
Often, I’ve remembered the words that instruct, that compel me to believe that no matter what, God brings good from all circumstances.
I’m afraid I’ve embraced this as a sort of consolation prize, a fourth runner up in a pageant who gets no crown or announcement.
A decision that all is always well for others, just not for me.
But, that’s so very distant from the truth.
The truth is, I just do not know it all, all the secrets I’ve been shielded from, all the recalculating of my directions and choices simply because that accurate and oh so loving Spirit inside me
Has said, this is the way.
It may seem wrong or not for you.
It may resemble hurt.
But, keep going.
Keep being you listening to me.
Keep being surprised by me.
In progress, I have 22 paintings commissioned that will be gifted to women, a reminder to me of something I never set out to do.
In 2015, I was given a Bible at Christmas. It was designed with space for thoughts and color in the margin.
This Bible began my journey into being an artist and it started with women from the passages who felt like women like me.
Sketches, simply sketches.
It’s now falling apart, the pages are more thin than makes sense. I should, I suppose put it away for safekeeping, stop using it.
This Bible led to painting angels for people who were grieving or needed encouragement and then to painting other subjects.
Not angels, but landscapes, abstracts, animals and trees.
And figuratively strong women standing, leaning, postured in a position that conveys battles won, grace remembered and mostly, I hope,
A decision to live with expectant hope.
To hope.
Their gazes fixed on hope.
Hope we can’t see; but, fully known because of God’s Spirit in us.
And along with all the nudges and the pauses.
The changes and questions.
I’m seeing the purpose of the visible pain and the invisible questions I’ve carried.
I’m finding my way to be guided by hope and endurance rather than questions of why and a constant looking back to a decision (even if feeble) to live “now” not then.
Knowing I have no idea what is coming only that what comes to me through my Father is always good.
Always has purpose.
We’ve come a far distance, those of us harmed by the uncertainties over why it seemed life chose to hurt us.
I’m giving myself mercy today because I can’t think of anything original or feel like really stringing words together that may be witty or cause one to pause and think.
I keep thinking about Matthew Perry. I know, I know. I don’t know him and he’s a celebrity.
But, I keep wondering if his drowning was intentional or if he passed out from drinking or drugs which would mean he’d fallen backwards
maybe again.
I walked and wondered if it was shame over a slip up that led to him falling too far to get back up.
I wondered about shame in general as I willed myself to get up from my painting desk to get fresh air.
To exhale, inhale, notice life on a solitary close to dark walk.
I thought about shame. I wondered if it can make you ill, physically ill.
I walked on, quietly.
Talked to God in my mind.
Took the long way back home
And saw a dove perched on the street sign on the corner.
In a time when objects catch your eye, welcoming at times and at others, a shockingly unwelcome stealing your gaze, it is good to be captivated by surprise.
The light landing on places, causing leaves to glisten, overgrown weeds or wildflowers to shine.
I thought to write about the goodness of dark chocolate with almonds since my “good” yesterday was a little heavy,
But, today with a baby boy in a stroller, I’ll stick with “beauty by surprise”.
Beauty you can’t stop looking for, beauty you know intersected your day because God saw your secrets, knew you needed to see something beautiful and untainted by humanity.
Baby Henry kicking his little feet and learning early, Grandma stops often, pauses on our walks and stands still with her eyes closed or sometimes just looks long at the sky.
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 