But, as for me, it is good to be near God. Psalm 73:28
Morning Spot
Changing my morning spot with the season means I’m facing the morning sun. I’m not able to linger as long. I’m motivated to move forward, toward the new day, the give and take back cycle of surrendering its way to God’s control.
The longer I stay, the more unavoidable is the glare. My face looks towards my journal, the three words on focus.
Holiness
Health
Change
Waking today, to a one step forward and three back kinda feel.
So, I ask simply for more grace.
Look up again, the sunlight now dappled through the pines.
I pray.
Turn my face towards the sun, Lord. Empower me to let the shadows fade away. All knowing, Father, you are good and only do good. Settle my mind and heart on this truth.
“The day is yours, and yours also the night; you established the sun and moon.” Psalms 74:16 NIV
“Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom he has redeemed from trouble” Psalm 107:2 ESV
Georgia
When this kitty cat came to me as a homeless sort, sleeping in a horse stall because she got separated from the litter and the mama, she hid under the house.
Imagine me lying on my belly in the overgrown elephant ear plants in the corner near the kitchen.
There was no coaxing her out. She came to me reluctantly the next morning.
Last week someone suggested I might not be the best kitten mother, maybe I don’t have the time or patience to tame her.
I considered it, that I’m not a real animal person, that she’d be better in another place.
But, I persisted.
I approached her with the understanding of her lack of trust, understanding she felt more safe all alone, she could only trust herself, she’d learned.
I had empathy with a tiny grey cat and changed one thing.
I became unselfish with my morning quiet. I made it her time first.
I allow her to find my lap. I don’t reach for the journal, the Bible, the pen or the stack of books.
I cup my warm coffee cup and I sit quietly. I think. I breathe.
I pray. We sit.
Early on, I considered the kitten sheltering under the house, hidden and afraid and I decided to see her perspective.
This new place, these new noisy people, this warmth inside, this back favorite room where the sun warms the blanket.
This woman, this man, these people plus a little toddler, a bit overwhelming.
The person who cautioned over the adjustment was also adamant not to allow my granddaughter near.
I wondered. I decided it will be okay. Because my grandchild understands the need for a gentle voice, a gentle hand.
She’s not bothered if kitty cat runs away, we’ll just try another time.
Gently.
Gently and with our persistence she sees we’re redeeming her uncertain beginning.
Same with us, the invitation to the Savior’s call, the gentle beckoning of us to come near, be safe.
“And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.” 1 John 4:16 NIV
Be taken care of.
I pray you don’t resist the call to be rescued by the sacrifice provided by God, our Father
His Son, our teacher, our Savior.
“Come, ye sinners, poor and needy, Weak and wounded, sick and sore, Jesus ready stands to save you, Full of pity, love, and pow’r.
I will arise and go to Jesus; He will embrace me in His arms. In the arms of my dear Savior, Oh, there are ten thousand charms.” Come Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy J. Hart, 1759
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 ESV
Every morning now, I open the back sliding door. Like a chef waving his hand over the skillet to invite the aroma upward, I invite the changing season in.
I step out and feel the change on my bare feet. The flowers drying to brittle fragile brown while others are vibrant still.
I read this morning about “Shalom”, an invitation to seeking peace.
Shalom, a greeting or a farewell in ancient days, “Peace”.
Day 9 of the 31 days of writing prompts caused me to groan.
Power.
I turned to weakness, my default or maybe not so much my fragility, but the preference not to lead, not to be involved in anything that requires power, assertion or influence of others.
Those days are done.
Afforded me time to take the blinders off, the struggles and strengths of others for way too long buffered what God needed and needs me to see in me.
It’s been long overdue and good.
Power?
Can we call it strength instead?
Then, I remembered my waking thoughts I framed with prayer.
Lord, help me know what those I love need from me.
The answer came eventually.
The strength I’ve been certain of going on a year.
Peace. I need to be peace. Not a peacemaker, interventionist or conflict resolver.
No, simply, I need to be at peace.
To be peace.
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9 KJV
I need to “make peace” in others’ lives by example.
With this comes strength. With this comes a power that enables me to do for those I love or simply encounter.
Surrender is a big requirement, but one that brings ease. Clear vision of your own issues leads to change.
Peace is not getting what I want or want for others. Peace is giving whatever perplexes me continuously to God.
What’s one question you have? An intrusion in your thoughts that refuses to go on its way?
How does God feel about questions?
Us knowing a little, but aching to know everything.
I wondered.
A little may be all you’re supposed to know and may just be enough.
This way of thinking came after praying. To put it into practice, I listed the things I do know. They outnumbered those I don’t.
My vision is blurry. My understanding is unfinished. My conclusions are often skewed. I’m patterned to protect myself, to anticipate bad news, to not be knocked down by surprise.
So, I like to know it all.
I’m changing though.
I know goodness and grace and that my prayers are heard.
I know enough.
Because, I’m not yet whole and well, I’m not God.
I can just know a little.
If I use what I see as the answer to a long coddled question, I’ll forever be longing for earthly evidence, confirmation and rest.
When I understand I’m only supposed to see just a glimpse, the glimpse meant for me, and I trust that God alone needs to comprehend the rest
I won’t need the whole picture.
“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” 1 Corinthians 13:12 ESV
I’ll just need my view.
The view often found at the foot of the cross, the floor beside my bed.
Tuesdays are early days, good if I wake on my own, no shrill of startling alarm.
I did today. Turned to my husband’s side to see the red lit time after waking with the words.
Pray about everything.
Two minutes shy of alarm, 4:58.
Pray about everything. Be still. Hope endures. Trust and wait. Pray and be patient.
A word comes to mind as I find verses to reference prayer.
Platitudes, do my notes to self, casual recommendations to others feel less like truth and more catchy phrase, a platitude?
Maybe.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.” Philippians 4:6 NLT
Patience is the word prompt today. Who of us is bold enough or certain enough to say,
“be patient”?
Be patient, this season of death, distress and division will be over soon.
Maybe we did last year this time, but now it feels/sounds like an empty platitude.
So, here’s an idea. Keep praying. Keep being patient.
Maybe it’s with your husband who says soon we’ll redo the bathroom. Maybe it’s with the person in the little old truck either worked all night or just in no hurry and you can’t safely pass.
Be patient.
Repotted your orchid and you see green on the branches after all this time? Be patient.
Patience is a practice. Prayer too.
Pray now, something tiny.
Wait.
Watch your patience grow
and change from a shallow teeny hope, even crazy thing to something better.
Evidence only you will feel and know.
Be patient. Be small. See your world this way and pray.
Across the road towards the Southside of town, the horizon is the color of a brand new bruise.
Undeniably, a storm is coming and like the signs warning of a coming backhand across your cheek or a vicious grab, you know this color, you are familiar with the warning.
In my little corner I sit and listen to the distant noise of thunder.
Sounding like men strong arming an old chest across the attic floor.
I am quiet. I’m well. I am safe.
Waiting for the rain has become a favorite thing. The air brushing my shoulder, a kiss-like surprise.
A drop, is it here?
The storm?
I will it to come slowly, to carefully creep closer like the left outside kitten.
I hope I can sit for just a bit
Under the crepe myrtles in the corner where the little table now lives, in the center my mama’s broken pot and the waxy succulents.
Thriving.
I am comfortable here.
Here comes the storm and along with it I see in my hurry, the first fragile flower of Fall.
Pink camellia, gently strong and one to be depended on.
Comfort.
Comfortable here.
Here comes the storm.
Notice what brings comfort. Thunder, a pink flower, a new sitting spot in your evening yard. Stay there.
In the summer months, my husband questions my robe with pajamas.
I tell him I love it, I just like to wear it. I feel pulled together.
Before daylight, I’ve left home, left it hanging with soft pajamas on the hook.
Monday morning morning views are back. The sunrise to the right of me leads me on. I turn to see it developing, the new and glorious day.
The road towards small town has me meeting headlights and remembering a time the lights sparked caution.
Remembering today that’s better, the lights, the road, the earliness of day.
Everything an adjustment bringing acceptance.
This time last year I wrote a book I thought was for children.
It was God’s promise posed in a way of “maybe she’ll get it this way” kind of thing.
I matter to God.
You matter to God no matter what.
You’re seen, known and loved.
When I worked with women trying to decide whether to believe life was worth living and whether they could change life stealing patterns,
I’d say,
“Look in the mirror, look for more than a minute, you’ll be able to see how you’re doing.”
I’m not talking full length that helps you decide if you can walk on the beach without your shorts or whether the pants are too tight from behind, whether the dress fits good or is too matronly.
No, just the bathroom mirror.
Wash your face and gaze. Consider the condition of your soul through the look in your eyes.
You’ll see. You will know.
Look again, again and again.
Check yourself.
Are you wearing your righteousness? Are you dressed in the covenant of peace?
Your eyes will know and they will tell you so.
You’ll see restoration, you’ll be excited to keep seeing it.
Christ in you, the hope of glory.
Become friends with the morning mirror. Carry on. Remember how yesterday was different.
Your faith more certain, your chasing misplaced trust became an acceptance of it.
A robe embraced you, rested on your shoulders and covered your questions,
The robe of righteousness, the blanket of salvation.
Continue and believe.
Be faithful in your belief.
Faithfulness is God’s character and that same character is in you.
“He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” Psalm 23:3 ESV
“In times like these you need a Savior In times like these you need an anchor Be very sure, be very sure…” In Times Like These
Saul was blind for three days after being confronted by Jesus over why he chose to be such a criminal, intent on being so vicious.
He was found and he saw life differently.
One lamb wanders away, the others stay in the pasture waiting as the shepherd, the master of their wellness and safety leaves them to find the wayward one. The parable is for us, the ones who were lost and still get lost sometimes.
We need our good shepherd. We’re prone to forget.
“Think of it this way: If a man owns a hundred sheep and one lamb wanders away and is lost, won’t he leave the ninety-nine grazing the hillside and thoroughly search for the one lost lamb? Now you should understand that it is never the desire of your heavenly Father that a single one of these little ones should be lost.” Matthew 18:12, 14 TPT
I saw a man walking on Wednesday.
His dark hair combed back from his face, his jaw clean shaven. The sun came up over his shoulder, I hoped it was the one I’d been praying for, the man I’d seen the days before.
This man curled up under the overpass, then later on my route, walking cloaked in black jacket and too big pants, bent down towards the sidewalk along the highway, once I saw him leave the Waffle House, I prayed he’d been well fed.
Seeing him early in the day made me hopeful. I prayed God had made for him a new path.
I’ve been sketching lots of practice sketches for a commission, a bird cradled in a hand was the request. Instead, I keep sketching hands cupping a bird in a nest.
Think of this.
We know God cares for us by looking at the birds as evidence of that love.
Look at the nest built by a mama bird and you’ll see it’s even more elaborate than we can fathom. A bird nest, intricately woven together, little stems and pieces of whatever that the bird creates using a sort of circle pattern as if the cupped hand of God is keeping it safe until it can fly on its own.
I’m humbled and awed by this.
If God, the maker of heaven and earth has equipped a bird to do this, how could I ever question His love and intentional preparing of me, to do things for those around me and for Him?
“Consider the birds—do you think they worry about their existence? They don’t plant or reap or store up food, yet your heavenly Father provides them each with food. Aren’t you much more valuable to your Father than they? So, which one of you by worrying could add anything to your life?” Matthew 6:26-27 TPT
Be very sure. He cares for you.
Like a mama bird with babies, like a kind and gentle shepherd who’d never abandon his lost lamb.
Like a Father who is wise, a friend who is kind. Like a stranger who stops what they’re doing to offer aid.
Be very sure, God cares for you and for lost, lonely or weary people you’ll never know.
“The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.” Psalm 16:6 ESV
I wonder if anyone on a summer morning would pause there as well. Or just me, my eye drawn to nature, the way an old bent root is exposed through what once was the ground, now eroding to give way for the road.
For our morning walking.
We noticed the pillowy green moss covering the border and we’d never not touch it, the invitation to see new life juxtaposed with trees barren because of age.
We stopped and cupped the evidence of life in the palm of our hands, caressed the smooth earthen wall.
It was a small thing, gloriously small.
Like clouds thickly shifting, my thoughts are of the majesty of God’s hands swooping down to stir them up.
I am convinced of this actually and often.
Majesty
I’m in a group of women called “The Alabaster Girls”.
I joined this group of others I don’t personally know because I wanted to be one, one with other women who would if given the chance, pour out all I’d been saving up in my own vessel or jar and in the face of resistance, express my relationship with Jesus.
“…what she has done will also be told in memory of her.” Matthew 26:13 ESV
Today, the leader suggested members of this group share our testimony. I paused like I’ve paused many times before.
My testimony of deciding to believe in Jesus is really small, sort of private, sort of “not sure it took” because my path forward has been imperfect.
So, I typed it in the comments and I saw my salvation in the truest way.
I thanked the group’s moderator for asking me to tell the story of my salvation, the one I sometimes felt was too small.
The story of my quiet day, quiet choice and quietly steady faith.
Jesus came to me gently and I welcomed Him in, in a quiet way.
I sat alone in my home, a single mother with two children. My Sunday morning thing became watching Charles Stanley, In Touch. I decided to believe what I still believe, Jesus died for me so that I could have life. It wasn’t a whole lot of fanfare and so, many times I’ve questioned the simplicity of it…now, I know that’s the greatest gift and truth, the decision to believe in Jesus can happen anywhere and I should never discount my testimony…deciding to follow Jesus, alone on a Sunday morning with a journal in my lap. God knew me even when I was so lonely and lost and He met me the most gentle way, knowing I was afraid of “being pushed around”. Wow. I’ve never actually written this out until today. God is using you, sweet Nan Trammell Jones.
The seed was planted way back then although not always meticulously tended or consistently fertilized by choices, prayer and worship.
Quietly, quietly and persistently I have grown and in my often “quiet about it” way, the way God made me, He is using my story.
Glorious Things
I am growing and others see Jesus in me in the very way God made me.
Quietly like the persistent beauty of green moss covering the ground, the evidence of goodness, of peace, of quiet confidence in God, the earth and all things knowing Him made more glorious.
Decide to accept Jesus. You will never regret what can never be taken away.
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 