After having the lyrics, all day long on my mind, I found it, played it late as drive home, late after long day and realized why I loved it back then, preparing me for now.
I asked a fellow blogger, “Why do some of us notice, while others stay insulated by self?”
Yes, work was a little more than overwhelming today; but, I took paintings to work with me and arrived at 8:00 (Write it down! she said, you made it in early) because a reporter asked to talk with me about my angels, my paintings, she’s noticed.
I consider it opportunity, I told her, an opportunity to have others feel comforted, maybe at rest.
An opportunity to tell of the opportunities God kept for me, brought me to, knew were there all along.
Regardless of notice or lull, I’ve been revived by found treasure, I’ll be painting.
So, I did my best to tell her why I paint, why I know for certain it’s a seed that finally found a bit of light to cause its growth.
We talked of life too, being without our fathers. Eventually resting in the love we gave them, no longer disputing who among us loved well or more.
Resigned in our relationships with our fathers.
An elderly man has been killed by a stranger for no reason at all.
I read that he loved his family, grandchildren, great-grands.
Randomly, he has left them.
A mama, pregnant with a daughter she’s at last decided to welcome was upset today,
Her four year old pouted when she sent him inside our homeless shelter to talk about grown up things with us.
Sometimes I forget about that grace thing I say…But, for grace I might have gone there.
I need reminding.
Thank you, Jesus for bringing me to reasons for pause, to notice others.
I struggled with explaining to a reporter why my angels have no faces.
I’d never been asked.
Told her they’re all around, waiting to be a comfort, the sway of the hip, the curve of a shoulder, the stance shaped by flow of gown.
They are hopeful comfort, almost like quiet observers interspersed in our life and are without wings because they’re
here among us, not above
You and I.
They wait to be noticed as they notice.
I worked hard today and tonight I will sleep, having texted my son “Sleep well, SYP’s (say your prayers)” and catching the dinging reply in which he says. “Thanks, you too.”
I’ll say them, my prayers for struggles I’ve not known, for things other than self…it’s a worthy discipline, you should consider its practice.
To pray for tragedies and people wrapped up in them, that we don’t know or understand,
And tho’ I’ll not know the ones I pray for, I am comforted in the assurance of being heard,
Like an angel without features, a quietly comforting presence.
There’s a wide open field sitting catticorner as I turn down the last turn towards home.
If I stay for church after choir, I’m affirmed in my choice because this field always causes me to stop. No one around, I let the window down and I pay homage to the display, the sun is going down in a splendid way for me. Always does here.
Tomorrow will be a new day.
I consider it all together; the day, the words, the verses showing themselves as I waver over my thoughts and questions, lately enigmatic, where do I go from here?
Maybe nowhere just yet. Linger, Lisa.
He makes everything beautiful in His time.
Become not overwhelmed with lofty what if or when. Let not the discernment of your thoughts be based on anything other than the loudly clear truth that comes when you get quiet and still.
It’s then you notice what matters, not the validation of others; but, the undeniable notice of one, my Heavenly Father.
It happens by surprise, your thoughts lovingly taken captive.
I cried in church this morning.
My thoughts drifted during the sermon. I noticed the tiny little footnotes marked by teeny tinier numbers interspersed with scripture.
I read ahead a little of the sermon on the three crosses and the thieves and skipped to the place marked “The Death of Jesus”.
“It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.”
Luke 23:44-46 ESV
I was curious about the explanation marked by footnote, so I looked more closely to understand.
The time of day was noon, the sixth hour.
The sun went away leaving what I imagine a large expanse of fear and darkness, of troubled minds, hearts and souls.
It was dark until 3:00, the ninth hour, the middle of a day.
Darkness marked the time and day, Jesus died for the sins of us in between a man bold enough to be humble and believe and the other too proud, angry and defeated to accept the possibility of grace.
I cried in church this morning. I read about the dark and sunless sky and I cried.
I thought of Mary, his mother; but, mostly I wondered about God.
I wondered if maybe God decided it was just too difficult to watch.
Now, I’ll tell you that’s not scriptural, still I wondered if that may have been His reason.
And I cried in church this morning over the darkness that marked death. Had I not recorded it here, no one would know, that I sat next to my husband, looking down at my Bible and I cried.
My tears were tender. They were soft and not for show, as if my reading of the black sky rested in my thoughts until a hand reached down somehow and clutched my heart, gently prompting a reaction I’d not let be forgotten.
I’ve been journaling about the people who met Jesus. Women caught, found out, brought out and yet, redeemed.
The intellectuals made to tuck their tails and turn from places in the sand preventing stones hurled at “sinners”.
I wrote about the woman at the well who met Jesus and then went about thrilled over all the bad he knew of her yet loved her.
She told every single person about her encounter at the well. She was astounded in a joyously unabashed way.
I cried at church today. I cried to think of how God took away the sun in the middle of the day as his Son died for me and you.
How could I not tell you of it, my tears and my redemption?
How could I scarcely keep it in, the way the sun escorted me home the day I mourned its going away?
Everything, beautiful in its time
He makes it. Darkness only lasts for a time, long enough to remind me of what matters most.
This “calling”, this thing I call my treasure because God led me to name it so, it will flourish and it will grow to whatever size and benefit God decides will serve the purpose of his glory.
I know some things grow best in the dark.
Faith, especially, the strength our eyes do not see.
Linking up with Michele Morin as she talks about her fears and a blind man who responded when Jesus asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Sometimes we only remember our “memory verses, ” and we miss the most meaningful conversations God wants to have with us through His word. The conversations between believers, encouragers, and teachers, they catch me off guard sometimes and make me just glad. I forget I’m reading an ancient book, it becomes such a novel like a story, the characters captivating me, the reader.
In the second of the Timothy books, Paul reminds young Timothy of the spirit God gave him and that it is not a spirit of fear, exhorting him, sending him off to carry out his duty.
It’s a popular verse. I’ve used it, heard it, shared it and prayed it. “For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.” II Timothy 1:7
Just before turning here I’d prayed that God would make me a more wise leader, that he’d help me understand his way in situations I face. I prayed I’d be more an example, that I’d serve more than lead, be an encourager.
I prayed that my children would have moments in their days that they remembered God and God would catch their attention with something beautifully unexpected, that he would equip them for their days.
Paul was preparing Timothy by reminding him of his unique gifts from God along with the power of the Holy Spirit.
But, Paul did something even more special, maybe he sensed he needed a different approach. I love it when the scriptures are conversational, I’m there with them, and I can see Paul like a coach, a mentor, even like the guy in the Karate Kid, giving ancient wisdom and personal experience to say… “You can do it.”
Maybe, though it wasn’t fear or timidity over the task. Maybe it was more a question of why me, how will I or there are so many who are better, more ready.
So, Paul says to Timothy. “Listen, young man, I know your mother. I remember your grandmother. I know they had sincere faith and so I know that same faith dwells in you.” (vs.5)
“Yeah, well you have a point. I have some strong and faithful women in my family.” I imagine him lifting his head and with a halfway smile of assurance nodding, maybe his mama and grandma standing in the shadows with sweet smiles.
May my faith be sincere Lord, like the faith of my grandma, the one I remember. May it be steadfast like the one I never got to meet but, only heard stories of her strength.
May my faith be sincere and my perseverance be unwavering like my mama.
May people say to my children, “I know you can do it, you’ve got the faith of your mama in you.”
May my faith be more evident each day to them
and to me.
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee
Read her beautiful story of how giving gives us just what we need! :
I’m updating this blog to share again a story of a gentle man who danced and prayed, a man who is loved by many and is sadly under hospice care. I’m not related. I have relatives who are. I imagine the legacy he will leave his family is immeasurable. His prayer about believing God sees us, hears us and even listens when we talk, and talks right back, it made a forever impression on me. I am grateful for that.
Join me if you will in praying for the family and friends who are surrounding this sweet prayerful dancer under the care of doctors who are saying, Soon his dance will be heavenly.
I am remembering this story from 2017.
I’m gonna tell this sweet story here because it’s just too precious not to be told. It’s all about dancing and desire and the way God listens and waits for our asking, God waits to dance with us. For our rhythm to be one of agreement, our desires to be fulfilled.
seeing, hearing, knowing, our Father who art in Heaven
Oh, he danced. We all danced at their wedding. I watched him for awhile, looking at the young people as they jumped up to dance, his face bearing a sweet smile as the couples made their spots on the floor their own. I watched as he shimmied his shoulders and tapped a little tune with his cane. Finally, he got up and he danced. And just like the first time I saw him, heard him pray, the whole room took notice and we all got the chance to see a life lived fully with wisdom and desire. I was glad to be in his presence again, the man who told me God listens.
Two weddings this year, my daughter and the love of her life, my niece and her’s…two chances to dance with the ones we love. Two chances to see the fulfilling of desires.
Sweet Dance of Desire – Heather and Benji
Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.
Psalm 37:4
I didn’t expect it. I don’t know if any of the others did.
Of course, I didn’t really know them, this family of sisters and cousins about to be my niece’s family.
We all sat semi-circle in pale floral upholstered chairs in the church parlor. It’s been a long time since I sat in a parlor, I thought.
We’d joined hands earlier, a stranger and I next to each other and the matriarch said grace as we sat ladylike. We filled ourselves with pineapple cheese ball on salty Ritz crackers, watermelon, little sandwiches and homemade cheesecake.
Where I’m from we call these foods “Nic-Nacs”. We talk about the recipes and we go back for thirds, not seconds on the tiny little plates. We look around to see who’s first to indulge. Southern ladies allowing themselves a little extra, smiling slightly towards one another, our lips lined brightly with corals and pinks.
Gifts were opened, names recorded by my daughter, oohs and ahhs were like lyrics, a pretty little melody, bouncin’ about the parlor.
Then, towards the end, the granddaddy walks in. A handsome sweet face, feeble but, determined and just glad to be with us. His walk was slow and uneven, one leg causing a struggle, he leaned on his cane, his body resting in a slanted way. Still, he had a confident swagger in step, sportin’ his dress pants and crisply ironed shirt.
I thought he must have just come alone, must live close by or had been waitin’ in the car for his mate. In the South, men don’t get to go to bridal showers, it’s pretty well known and understood.
He joined the circle for a bit then his daughter introduced him,
“Daddy wants to say a few words”.
He took his time as he stood, waiting for us all to stop our chatter. It was a treasure to him, I could tell, to just be with us and to “talk about the Lord with you ladies for a few minutes”.
They were words of instruction and love and of his hopes for the soon to be wed. He was happy that his family is growing, he said. His words not just a platitude. He talked about prayer, and about desire.
We all sat quietly, my daughter across the room, glanced towards me, her face, sweet as if to say, “I know you love this, mama.” There was a sense of the significance of this time, his words, our chance to listen and hold on.
He talked about his life, his trials, his troubles, his God and his telling of stories to whomever he meets. A variety of people, I thought who have been captivated by his curiously wise dialogue.
Long pauses, between sentences, he was thinking, figuring, preparing what God had for him to say. His time in the church parlor he considered an opportunity, meaningful, worth something, I could tell. So, he paused a long pause before saying one thing clearly, his voice commanding our attention. He paused to make sure we all were captive in our seats.
“I can hear God. He talks to me all the time. I tell you one thing, people don’t believe me, that I hear him; but, I keep telling him how I feel, what I need. He answers me. If I had one of those contraptions that measured…what’s the word…decibels, I can assure you I hear him all the time. I’d have something to show the ones who don’t believe me, don’t need it, though, I hear him. It’s real clear, too”
“You can too and you can tell him anything.” He added.
“But, just make sure that if you desire something and you tell him, that you really, really desire it, because he will give you what you desire.”
Then I listened as he prayed for the soon to be married couple and for all of us ladies and I waited, still and attentive to his sweet voice.
I listened, longing to hear more.
I made sure to see him at the wedding, be sure my husband had a chance to meet him. My niece asked me to pray before the meal and I did my best, all the time wishing I’d been able to hear his prayer instead. I wish I’d suggested it, I thought, before the final plans had been made.
But, I prayed a prayer about love and family and looked over at the granddaddy after my “in Jesus’ name, Amen” to see his encouraging nod as if to say “You did fine, He heard, he knows the desire of your heart, remember? He just told me so.” And then a smile that felt like love with just the slightest wink of Southern gentleman.
And then, we dined and we danced knowing our desires were very known.
Acknowledge what I’ve been given instead of longing for what I lost, felt I lost out on.
re·solve
NOUN
firm determination to do something:
“she received information that strengthened her resolve”
Pray more.
Trust more.
Love more.
Learn more about God and me.
Keep them all.
“Keep the faith, finish the course. ” 2 Timothy 4:7
Thank you, Paul, for your part in the story.
Sometimes I think I’m either the most simple minded of people on earth or the most complicated of minds incapable of rest.
I’m a contrast of contentment in the gift of lamplight on morning devotion; I yearn for solitude, rarely am I lonely.
Yet, the thoughts I conjure up, I’m unable to contain. Been called “deep”, been thanked for my deep thoughts.
On this day, the last of 2016, there’s a loud huffy sigh, bemoaning the disdain of its days. I don’t think I’ve ever lived a year that many feel as if we’ve all walked around either on eggshells or avoiding land mines. Negativity, pessimism and a tendency to grieve people we’ve never known, to align ourselves with the distress that we’ve never experienced and probably never will.
Tomorrow, not an unveiling of newness, other than number, a new set of hours making a day. But, there is a trend towards thinking it might be good, might be better.
My only aspiration is to step towards the things I’ve let fade, linger too long.
The treasure, closer and closer to the place of boxing up and storing on the top shelf of my closet, nothing more than idea and season.
This morning I read of Paul and his encounter with a rich man, a man whose possessions meant more than his days.
Measured his wealth, decided it was too risky to trade in for his soul.
I have never known wealth, have lived an unexpectant life. I’ve coveted the lives of others, longed for their pretty things.
Wasteful times and thoughts those have been.
Finally, I’m beginning to cherish the beautiful enough.
I’m thrilled by the smallest of unvalued and the immeasurably valuable things.
Lessons, memories, stories, connections.
Seeing, feeling, knowing Gods hand on the course my life.
Dogs, I learned to love them in 2016.
Life, I learned to accept it, daily.
My people, I learned to love them with open hands, not tightly clutched grasp of apprehension.
Thank you, God.
Crazy chances taken, wasted saving graces and Lord knows I’m beginning to see why I made it through.
I’m finally finishing a book I should’ve never set aside. I’m rereading it now, underlining bedside.
Paul and Jesus, themes of wealth, struggle, integrity, times living “on fire”, times of dull flame, finally, more times of staying the mental course that brings good to days. The little book ends with “Ten Vows of Success”
“He who suffers, remembers.” Og Mandino
“I will bathe my days in the golden glow of enthusiasm. In that bright glow will I be able to see, for the first time, all the good things in life that were concealed from me during those years of futility.
Just as a young lover has a finer sense and more acute vision and sees, in the object of his affection, a hundred virtues and charms invisible to all other eyes, so will I, imbued with enthusiasm, have my power of perception heightened and my vision magnified until I can see the beauty and charm others cannot discern which can compensate for large loads of drudgery, deprivation, hardship, and even persecution.
With enthusiasm I can make the best of any situation and should I stumble now and then, as even the most talented will do on occasions, I will pick myself up and go on with my life.
Always will I bathe my days in the golden glow of enthusiasm.” Part II The End of the Story, The Greatest Salesman in the World by Og Mandino
This little book, a recommended read from my son and a very wise friend, Ray Visotski.
Happy New Day tomorrow…that just happens to be the first of a New Year!
Acknowledge what you’ve been given instead of what you’ve lost or lack, Lisa.
On the first day of new, I wrote a prayer and called it “Winter”, knowing that what I write, I might retain.
I found it beautiful then. It was descriptive and true.
Grace found
Pausing to look it over, gray lines and loops on thin white paper, I pondered the seven days since I’d already begun to fear.
Welcome, Winter.
May your arrival bring new things.
May I be unafraid of your truth
and of mine.
May I hold fast to a promise uttered for others and for me,
a breakthrough is coming, it’s about to be time.
This morning I sat in a dim space. The morning faded by moist and thick fog led me to linger. I read and wrote, three or four lines at most. The quiet of the morning, too much of a calm nothingness for me to move.
I listened and heard a dove in the distance. Its coo was quiet, then more clear, then quiet again. The notes of its song danced like black squiggly shapes on sheets of music.
I listened and thought of grace.
Grace, manifested, making itself evident, the only other sound the tick of the clock on kitchen wall.
The cooing of the bird becoming conversation, for me, I decide.
I waited. It continued.
It quietens, so I move, unfolding the quilt from my bare feet.
I think of seeking the sound, the sight of grace.
For months, I walked almost daily with lens pointed towards the sky. Random shots of clouds that called me to notice. The sky, like dove song, I’m certain was always for me.
Grace, manifested. Grace, rediscovered.
Had never moved, not been removed nor withdrawn, I’d just stopped looking. Maybe I’d become comfortable in the apathy of apprehensive unknown.
Sometimes we do these little things like “quiet time” and journaling and they’re nothing short of cliched habit, practicing a trendy social sharing, searching for a word to declare will carry us through the day…like wearing our badges of honor to mark our fading faith.
Then, we see grace.
We feel it. We hear it because it was not of our making, we got silent and still enough to see God.
I’m looking again. I’m noticing again. It’s a quiet and private practice.
Earlier today, I was captivated by a presentation. Watch and listen:
A video created by a photographer, the intent to capture the emotion of 2016. It’s hard to watch. Hard not to watch. The voice of the narrator is reminiscent of the sweetest teacher a Southern girl may have ever known. It’s a voice that is somber in its serious tone, broken in its cadence.
If voices were visible emotion, her’s would be the drawn face of sorrowful acceptance.
It was hard to watch, such an accurate commentary of our time, our distress.
Hard to watch, yet, impossible not to take notice.
I watched and still, I thought of grace.
I thought of Job and his refusal to give up on God, his dismay, his defeat and his holding out and holding on to see grace again when they all told him it was not to be found.
No more grace for you, curse what you’ve decided to count on for good and accept that your doubts have come true. His wife, his friends, the bodies of his children cried out. Job 2:9
I thought of the sky that I turned to notice once the fog had cleared.
The open spot where the blue came in.
That’s the place that reminded me of my Winter prayer
and eventually, again, of grace.
Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer; listen to my plea for grace. Psalm 86:6
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee to Tell His Story.
I’m writing for five minutes with thoughts on “Now”.
Linking up with Kate Motaung on this chilly Friday morning in South Carolina.
I’m driving five hours or so today. My companion and I will talk, some of it will be nervous chatter, filling up awkward empty spots. Some of it will be weather, season or world.
Some of our conversation might be about our children or maybe even our shoes. I woke, refreshed and said “Thank you, Lord, for I slept without tossing.”
Today Now
I prayed, “Help me to see my opportunities to help today, to speak the things I know.”
I heard a sweet lady yesterday tell me of her husband’s abusive childhood. He’s a kind and distinguished man, I was not alarmed; but, surprised.
She says he carries it with him. It’s a blessing and a curse, she said.
More curse, but, the blessing is he’s kind to others because of it.
“Yes” I said.
I drive today to help a woman who felt she deserved nothing. I will not speak for her. I doubt I’ll be allowed.
I will speak to her if opportunity presents. Ill tell her that moving forward is scary, that looking back and living in the place another placed you is more comfortable, makes more sense and lessens the fear.
Ill tell her maybe about Esther…The one who stood with grace and spoke for life.
I’ll tell her maybe this is her time.
Ill think, maybe it’s mine.
And who knows whether maybe you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this? Esther 4:14
Maybe it’s age I thought, except it doesn’t feel like an aged thing to do. I look towards the sky, treetops, moon and sun. I pause in the connection that feels more like settled than sage.
Closer to God, closer to them. I see my father in the tallest of narrow pines, the moon resting there, unpretentious.
If I told you a story of my father, I might have described him as common. I may have told of remembering his scarcity of conversation. I may have told you about his best friend Thomas who looked after my mama after he died.
I may have told you of his intolerance towards the pompous or arrogant or his consistently trying to be more than life and hardship had equipped him to be.
I may even have told you about his love hate relationship with drink, loving the way it numbed his past, hating its angry hold.
Most likely, though I’d tell you he was handsome, neat as a pin and wisely quiet and refined. When he smiled, it was true.
I might tell you that I never saw him read his Bible, nor did I hear him pray out loud. I believe he did.
I believe he believed and he prayed the way he lived, like Paul urged, quiet and not for noticing.
11 and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you…I Thessalonians 4:11
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 