testimony

Complicated Soil

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

(Growing by Dying – notes from a talk)

 

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.

Walk in it.

 

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

 

 

 

 

 

Making New Stories

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, family, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, Teaching, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

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.”

Micah‬ ‭6‬:‭8‬ ‭MSG‬‬

Curious about my art?

Quiet Confidence Art

Continue and believe,

LT

On Self and Suffering

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, Faith, family, fear, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, rest, Salvation, testimony, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wonder, writing

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

In quiet confidence is your strength.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

31 days of good things

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, family, kindness, love, memoir, Redemption, rest, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Day 20 – Being Seen

There wasn’t time for a deeper conversation. There wasn’t the space nor would the talk about the state of my heart, my mind have been able to find space in all the other chatter.

Someone I love and who loves me and is wise, told me later on the phone…

“You looked so tired that day.”

And I did my best to decide whether to say that I was in fact tired, to share with her all the reasons of how I had just been pushing through

or to wait and see if her observation may have invited

a more beautiful conversation.

If she might have time to listen, if I might be brave to clarify. If she might be courageous enough to share her own heart.

Being honest is risky.

I try to recall that day. Was I exhausted or was I just me at 63?

Likely a combination.

But, wouldn’t it be beneficial in a loving way, I thought if she’d have said,

“How’s your soul, what’s on your mind, what’s causing you to feel unwell, what’s brewing underneath that’s about to boil over and you’re trying to keep it under wraps?”

“What’s the thing under the thing”

Then, I would have sensed an offer of hope.

This morning, before I threw off the covers, responded blurry eyed to a ding on my phone, I thought of this longing…to be seen,

to have a sweet conversation about why she thought I “looked so tired”.

I thought of Martha.

I thought of what Jesus told her and how women especially, decide even if in secret, “Mary was his favorite.”

And we know that Jesus was simple telling her to see her sister’s choice to rest as a better choice and still, I wonder…

Could he have elaborated, could he have spoken with more clarity and could Martha have used different language?

“And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭10‬:‭40‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Could Martha have been more vulnerable?

Could she have simply asked the question that prompted warm tears on my cheeks today?

“Jesus, do you see me?”

We likely don’t know the entire conversation, Jesus beckoning her from the kitchen to sit beside her sister.

What if what he meant was simply…you seem so tired, I know your gifts are serving, working, preparing and fixing…

So, come and rest with your sister and I and if you’d like to tell me more I’ll listen.

Many beautiful conversations have been had with the one who pointed out what she saw as my exhaustion.

I know she sees and saw me.

We’ll talk about it soon.

So, today’s good thing?

Being seen.

Who can I truly see today and in an honest exchange allow them to truly see me and then in a conversation that offers hope.

Then, we go on our way

seen, known and loved.

Continuing to believe.

You are loved (more than you’ve been told).

31 days of good

Abuse Survivor, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, hope, jubilee, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Salvation, self-portrait, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Day 12 – Doodling

Most of my life I’ve been nurtured by the pencil in hand, a piece of paper, a margin that invites.

Art sustains me.

A wise Dr. and author, Curt Thompson reminds often of attachment that we as children needed to be “seen, safe, soothed and secure” and that need is innate. We will always be in pursuit.

Embraced By Grace

Interestingly, adding color to paper and hinting at an emotion are when I feel these needs are known most and met.

How about you?

Is it art?

Music?

Prayer?

or something else.

I hope you know this “withness with God” often.

You are loved.

Even if the child in you lacked one of the “s”’s.

She’s still there, self-aware, surrendered and seeking solace in the sweet places she’s found herself

Seen, soothed, safe and secure.

Continue and believe.

August, Happy You’re Here

Abuse Survivor, Art, artist calendar, confidence, courage, Faith, memoir, mixed media painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

I love the sound of “August”, the sounds of it. The excitement for new things like a school year, a settledness from summer things that sometimes feel like “have to do’s” more than want to’s.

Last year’s calendar came to be when I considered the gift of a dove’s meaning, the nearness of God, the invitation to be a believer in and a seeker of peace.

Maybe August comes with an invitation to change the way we’re walking, sort of reroute our navigation.

I discovered the Biblical meaning of August being themes like new beginnings, reset, and one I especially love, “restoration” and I for one, am happy the day is here…the very first day to move courageously (even if again or against the wind) toward beautiful yet to be seen ways that God is a God of restoration.

Nine paintings of women came to life as I thought about the courage that comes from allowing and aligning with God’s restorative love and discipline.

“Restoration”

He’s making us new, leading us who are listening, noticing and recalling just how far we’ve coming.

Our colors are changing, no longer hidden.

We’re vibrant.

“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

So, watch and notice. Pay attention. August is ready to bring restoration, to continue in ways that felt new, or to begin anew.

Next year’s calendar?

I’m thinking “transformation” as its theme.

Butterflies as art.

“Restoration” pieces will be live on my website (www.lisaannetindal.me) in just TWO Days!

Thanks for being here with me.

How We Answer

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, mercy, Peace, Redemption, Salvation, testimony, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

“Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am he.”
‭‭John‬ ‭4‬:‭26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I sketched a thin woman in a scarlet gown in the margin of John, chapter 5, page 893. I found her flipping through to reread the account of the Samaritan woman who was avoiding the crowds to draw water at the well.

She met Jesus.

Living Water

These pages don’t tell her story, only have the recorded words of Jesus talking about living water, a life without thirst, a limitless provision.

“On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”
‭‭John‬ ‭7‬:‭37‬-‭38‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yesterday, I had a moment that led to chills up my legs and over my entire body. I sensed the truth of my physical reaction. I paused to accept it and allowed a tiny bit of wetness on my cheeks.

My college roommate for just a year, now a successful business woman who I’ve not seen nor spoken to in over forty years, commented on a Facebook photo of my granddaughter.

The thought that came was sudden.

“She needs to know how I came to be okay.”

She needs for me to keep sharing my story.

She needs to know how I moved from hopelessness to hope.

The Woman at the Well went into the town nearby and told everybody that she’d met the man who knew everything about her, told her all he knew and gave her hope, living water.

I find myself wanting to read more of her story.

I long for the next chapters in her life to be in my Bible, her walk forward with Jesus.

I want to know if it was shaky, her faith. I long to hear from her through John, Luke or Mark, her battles, her returning to life with the reputation she’d created.

I wonder if we don’t read about the other “chapters” in her life and others’ because God feels they wouldn’t serve us well, wouldn’t offer others that same water of hope.

I wonder if others wonder such things.

When the Samaritan woman returned to her day to day, possibly less enthused about her encounter with Jesus, was she met with disbelief, with sarcasm, with scorn?

I’d like to know what all the ex-husbands and ex-lovers as well as those who thought they might get the chance to be her lover had to say.

Was it hard for her to see herself differently than what she’d come to be known for?

Was her salvation just a fluke? Did she struggle with doubt?

Maybe.

After all, she was human as were all the humans healed by Jesus.

She had emotions.

I believe she held on tightly to the simplest of words.

“I met Jesus.”

We read that she changed the lives of many Samaritans that day.

But, we don’t read how she walked into her new future day to day.

Maybe there’s just not enough space to record all the ways Jesus continued to help her, how she continued to remind herself of the day at the well, how she hurried to tell everyone.

I have hope now. I am well.

I used to believe I’d always answer the question of why I believe in Jesus by telling of all the answered prayers I have experienced.

Now, it’s in the stories of others, in my story, in the unexpected and beautiful nudges that say I matter…

the woman you became despite the little girl and young woman, growing older woman, often imperfect that you’re becoming.

The entirety of you, your story matters.

“Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”
‭‭John‬ ‭21‬:‭25‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There’s still plenty of time and space to share it.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

And if you’ve not yet believed or your belief is fading or shaky.

I’d love to pose a question.

How might your life be different if you decided to believe and believe in Jesus.

He giveth more grace.

I am evidence of that.

Power and Prayer

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, freedom, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I finished a short book, a memoir I was asked to endorse. I committed to read in its entirety at first because I’ve heard endorsers of books rarely read the book fully.

And then, because I couldn’t stop reading. I’ll share more about this book soon.

For now though, a little about this little prayer, the graphic I offer you here.

Maybe, I thought, a more acceptable prayer, one more able to help tie the loose ends of unanswered questions, to heal wounds still festering, a prayer more conducive to strength and with less shame.

“God, turn it for good.”

The book I finished caught my breath with its honesty, made me pause overwhelmed by the author’s words of wisdom and mostly, empathy.

It’s a memoir about child sexual abuse, a woman detailing her faith and counseling journey as she bravely reveals her secret, confronts her abuser, her father.

Intertwined in her coming to terms with the abuse by her father, she comes to terms with her questions about why she wasn’t protected by God and how the ripple effect of her sexual abuse separated her even farther from the God she was raised in every Sunday morning church to know.

Because she wasn’t protected, she believed less that she was “wronged” and that all along it was her that was “wrong”.

As I read, many comments were added for my benefit. I became teary eyed when I read of her circling back and back again to the why of God, where and why and how was it allowed?

Her counselor gifted her with words I’ve learned to treasure.

God was there too. God was not pleased. Evil took over. But, God was there with you.

Just as He is today.

Still, it is close to impossible for this truth I choose to be less mystery than reality.

I am learning. God saved me for this.

I’m learning to hold in one hand my questions while balancing in the other the evidence of God in my life, the promises that have been fulfilled.

All of the trauma, the unfair treatment, the less than storybook childhood, the abuse, the grief, the slander of my name by others.

The lack of rescue until I was numb to having a hand clench my neck or throw me against a wall. Stunned, I was stunned into submission of things that should never have happened at all.

That I did not cause.

These hurts are long gone and the thoughts they’ve birthed that I share here are for your hope.

These redemptive thoughts.

So, I offer you this little prayer, a phrase you can say on repeat for whatever wrongs you’ve known.

God, turn it for good.

Once, a few years ago (I’ve thankfully come so far) my counselor asked me if I ever asked Jesus where he was.

So, I asked and He answered slowly, not audibly or enormously, instead so fittingly, an image like a painting.

A familiar place where hard things happened and beside me in a grassy place, Jesus kneeled.

Jesus was with me.

I offer you this prayer.

A precious one, really and not an attempt to right wrongs, a gift of retribution, or a magic eraser of pain.

No, a leaning really. Just a leaning as you learn, as you see God with you.

Continue and believe.

Your story is special.

(Mine is too.)

Befriended

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.”
‭‭John‬ ‭15‬:‭13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I asked my friend to counsel me. She invited me to dinner instead and we counseled, consoled and decided some things.

Considered why there’s no 12 step type group for those who are questioners, often to the point of despondency, despairing and the other “D”, depression.

There was healing in our agreement, there was laughter over our recognition of that need.

There was the knowing of ourselves and of one another.

Befriending.

I had dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in close to two years. I was scurrying to make it and almost cancelled. My hair was dirty, I didn’t feel too “spunky” and well, I’m older than the last time I saw her. I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been thinking about aging.

But, I made it to the spot, dry shampoo and mascara plumped eyelashes with blush on my cheeks.

I beat her there. She arrived and we held each other long, long, long. “I love you” was the greeting as well as the goodbye.

We talked, we laughed, we counseled one another. We ate pizza over a glass of good wine.

When I woke the next morning, my first thought was “God’s not disappointed in you.” and as the day became sunny and pink with azaleas, I took to heart that I shouldn’t be either and I smiled as I remembered my friend’s hands in mine as we caught up with each other and decided.

“We’re gonna make it after all.”

Two days later, I’m recalling the likemindedness in our chatter. I’m remembering her inquisitive patience. I’m reminding myself of the gift of affirmation, the bravery of listening when listening is more important than adding to the conversation.

Early today, I rethought a familiar prayer, the one prayed by Jabez, (I Chronicles 4:10) the son who was labeled by a name that made his future seem grim.

Lord, help me to trust you to enlarge my boundaries, extend my reach and keep me from chasing after things that will lead to pain, things fueled by insecurity and fear.

I readied myself in the dark for my day, interrupted by the nudge to pray.

A prayer with a shift in perspective.

Jesus, help me to accept fully your befriending.

Because all sorts of songs and trendy Christian talk will proclaim friendship with Jesus.

But, oh to be honest, it’s not up to us at all.

No effort will sustain the relationship.

It’s really much more simple.

Acceptance. Belief.

Be befriended by Jesus.

I’m not sure where I’d be if there were an expiration date on my understanding of such things.

I’m old and I yet young in this friendship actually.

You’ll likely hear this song soon or hear about it. Lauren Daigle’s tender voice and truth admitting she’d be a mess without the friendship of Jesus.

Thank God I Do

I encourage you to listen. I just did with tear soaked cheeks while feeding a baby.

I hope you’ll allow the befriending of Jesus.

It’s a beautiful education of the soul.

Resonance

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, testimony, wisdom, wonder, writing
like an echo

I stared out the window, the tops of pines golden in the early light. A mysterious sight, a dab of different color caused me to stare.

A pine branch must’ve splintered and the light color must be the underbelly of the bark. Then, I looked again. The object was gone.

I concluded it had to have been an owl or a hawk and naturally, that led to even more romanticizing this enigma in the trees.

Mid-morning, I looked again. With a baby on my chest, I discovered the object was a balloon that had gotten tangled and deflated and the wind had it dancing in and out of my sight.

Then, I began to get excited.

My granddaughter’s butterfly balloon had escaped her grip and “gone up to heaven” never to be seen again.

She arrived home with her mama and before I could tell her, her mama spotted it.

A hurried gathering of jackets began and I listened as she asked, “I gotta show you something, remember us asking God to help us find your balloon?”

She nodded with a smile that said she knew the surprise already.

Then baby boy and I watched from the window as they struck out through the hay field to the very back corner, a valley.

From a distance, I saw my daughter grab a broken limb and somehow dislodge the tangled ribbon and the flattened balloon.

Then, they took the long way back around the field, the walk I call “around the block”.

I asked my daughter, “Was it the butterfly?” anxious to join them in the mystery, the answered prayer.

“No, it was a Valentine’s one from who knows where.”

I watched my granddaughter, ever the listener as she quickly announced that it was hers anyway, just not the butterfly, it was her Valentine balloon (imagined).

She decided it was worth celebrating, special and unexpected even if wasn’t exactly the miracle we thought.

And then she moved on to something else, balloon adventure forgotten.

This morning, I discovered a pretty word I love and had big plans for I may have misused or slightly made wrongly “mine”. (I do this.)

Resonance.

I suppose it has nothing to do with feelings and mostly with science.

Like my granddaughter, I think I’m gonna think differently and decide on my own.

I don’t know why this happens. I decide to pull out the beginning pages of my long ago decided memoir and I go to the library and I run my fingers across the familiar words and the tenderness is so tender, I begin to cry.

I’m not sure what this means.

I’m not jumping to any conclusions as to whether it means close that door or throw every window and door back open. Step back in and don’t ever pack it away or fold it like a letter and seal the envelope forever.

It’s just an observation.

Library, window view towards the blue sky, laptop open, pages ready for pen and then…

Soft, never harsh tears.

I’m in the library, a place I love for two reasons though. My husband is painting cabinets and needed me not to hover.

More importantly, someone I know only through blogging is publishing her memoir and sent the manuscript to me. She asked me to read and endorse her book.

We’ve never met. I know her story and she knows mine through our blogs.

I’m forty pages in to her memoir which begins with a note to the reader, to women like me who’ve had their lives complicated by uninvited trauma.

Resonance.

An inaudible echo in my soul as I read her story, pause to be amazed by her knowing my feelings.

Resonance, a pretty word I love to decide is mine to choose sort of like the mystery balloon not being completely true and yet, choosing to believe.

Sort of beautiful really, the license love affords us to use when we decide life is and can be full and we fully immerse ourselves in the good, the bad, to the no way it’s true…we can choose.

I hope this is a soft echo for you.

Life lived fully known and open to the enigma of you and others who privately or not say “me too” adding to the resonance in ripples.

The echo of you.

Me too.

Continue and believe.