As Martha was met by Jesus, distraught over the death of her brother, she told Him she still believed in His goodness, in the purpose of Him.
Then, she went to get her sister Mary.
“She said to him, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.”” John 11:27 ESV
Mary stood next to Jesus and asked why he waited so long. Jesus wept.
Then he told the sisters to take him to their brother although it had been four days.
“Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?”” John 11:40 ESV
Lazarus was raised. Jesus told them both and all who had followed out of grief and curiosity, that this was the way God intended it, so that all would believe, not just the sisters.
All, like all of us.
“So they took away the stone. And Jesus lifted up his eyes and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me.”” John 11:41-42 ESV
I woke up early, got my journal, books and pen and then felt the need, like a gentle call to read my (actual)Bible.
The Mary and Martha story is good. Always.
God’s timing is not ours. Don’t give up hope. Don’t stop believing in the grace, strength, mercy and presence of Jesus. Look at your life, remember times you asked for help and help came. Times of desperation because of delay of some sort.
Sometimes I pray “God, show us your glory today, come through in a way that it’s clearly you…’cause I’m not able on my own.”
And Jesus has come, has remedied, relieved, given me strength when I am weak.
These words gave me permission to consider my wandering, validated a truth I see in myself and wondered how many others wrestle with the same question.
Where is God today?
Why do I feel I’m in this battle alone?
What if my faith is fleeting?
Faint, yet pursuing. Judges 8:4
This verse describes a throng of warriors’ commitment to battle with their leader, Gideon.
“And Gideon came to Jordan, and passed over, he, and the three hundred men that were with him, faint, yet pursuing them.” Judges 8:4 KJV
I jotted down three verses from my Bible one day last week, folded the paper and put it in my “to do list” book.
The passages were from Psalm 42, Luke 2, and this Old Testament text.
Often, a trio like this will wrap me in its embrace of understanding, acknowledgement of question, and offering of clarity and peace.
Gideon, David and Mary share a theme that resonates. They wavered in their confidence and faith, maybe in a way like me, asked God to be near, asked Him to show evidence that their faith wasn’t without hope. That they can wander away and wonder in a questioning way and they can be themselves.
We can be ourselves.
God welcomes that.
David gives countless templates for questioning conversations with our approachable God.
“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.” Psalm 42:11 KJV
Today, I pray you notice the Christmas around you. That you feel a nearness with Jesus, God’s intentional gift for us.
Nearness, more near than any humanly possible things.
Jesus Christ, the baby, little boy and man who dwelt among others and now, if you’ll allow Him dwells within, His Spirit
Strength and peace.
I pray that you believe in Jesus Christ as your Savior, not just the idea of Him, although it surely is the most beautiful idea on its own.
A baby born to then die for us. A baby born without sin to become a man crucified cruelly although without sin.
I pray you believe and that you begin to pursue and never stop pursuing even on dismal days, days when you’re battle weary and days when you being invited to participate in such a miraculous truth seems unbelievable.
“And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.” Luke 1:45 ESV
Continue and believe. If life leads you to question, continue and be at peace.
I follow an author, Priscilla Garatti, who lives nearby. I imagine meeting one day. There are a handful of authors, bloggers, artists with whom I feel kindred. Their creativity is like I hope mine comes through, with depth, honesty and a belief that we can still hope.
On this sunny Sunday morning, I wake groggy from cold medicine and I read Priscilla’s most recent post about a dream I’ve found to be teachable for me. It contains the word conviviality which I had to look up.
I’m glad I did, glad I can now hope for togetherness despite pain, angst, differences or simply changes in relationship.
Conviviality despite perhaps unkind words, taking into consideration the pain of others before distancing myself or adding to their distress.
Imagine being with the most prolific teacher, one you’re humbled, challenged, encouraged and fascinated by.
Grandma Mornings
I had an English professor, Honors English in my Freshman year. She saw my timidity and yet, she gave no mercy when it came to writing. Honesty, brevity, tenacity were her standards, more so than grammar.
Write with honesty. Don’t copy.
Don’t quit.
I left that college and that Honors English professor after barely eight months. Art scholarship and English were sidelined by events uninvited.
I wish I could remember her name, that tiny framed woman who commanded the room.
She taught me about doing hard things. She spoke of choices that would bring joy.
It’s crazy really, the forceful tone she used to cut no corners and instruct me has been my motivation for as long as I can recall.
I was afraid of her. I was unsure.
She told me I belonged in her class and I should never forget it.
I have been writing all my life in one way or another.
My writing lately is cursive, blue ink in my journal and most days an early morning Instagram post.
Honestly.
I honor that petite professor who never played favorites. Shy poor girl me or sorority blonde, she taught us to write and to continue writing.
She left us all with what was important.
Most important.
Jesus left the disciples with many commands that he hoped they’d honor. He told them doing so would lead to joy.
Most of all,
He said, “Love one another”.
Some mornings I read a verse or more and I write a sermon to self. Mornings like today, I share it:
Look for light today, where the love of Jesus falls and changes the simple or hard things.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” John 15:12 ESV
Years ago, I concluded that God made us all so different, so uniquely difficult in our ways, so individually changed by our circumstances in not always so easy to love ways, so that we’d be challenged to obey the command to love one another.
The greatest commandment isn’t a suggestion.
The other day I “vented” with a friend about difficult people. She listened. I listened. We had things in common. I didn’t feel better for my venting. Wished I hadn’t.
Notice how you feel when it’s a challenge to love others, choose the way of Jesus to do the best you can.
You’ll feel better for trying, for doing what the teacher instructed.
Remember, we don’t know the experiences that lead to the behaviors of others. It really is all about perspectives formed by circumstances.
We just can’t know the whole story of anyone other than the portion they share.
What we allow to be influenced by Jesus, by love, by vulnerable secret places exposed to light, lends itself to our stories being rewritten.
We begin to believe the vastness of God’s grace is for us, not just for others.
We loosen the bitter, cynical ropes that tether us to making sense of past wrongs and in a gradual epiphany type way, we see hope as more than a sweet little word.
We may wonder why it took so long and we may fear falling back into the questioning pattern tattooed on our soul by trauma.
We may wonder over this change causing glimpses of heaven.
Or we might decide to embrace it.
We may just move this Christmas season from believing and accepting Christ Jesus
To fully embracing Him.
We’ll be easy on our fragile human hearts when they try to grow stiff again.
We’ll pivot towards the soft light of love, we will reset our hearts on hope again.
We will say to ourselves, maybe on little post-its or with pen on our wrists.
“healed”
…by his wounds, I am healed.
We’ll continue seeing God. We’ll be amazed where He is.
“having the eyes of your hearts enlightened, that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the working of his great might” Ephesians 1:18-19 ESV
The psalmist, David, is speaking of himself when he speaks of glory. Our stories of overcoming are what contributes to our glory? I’m on day two of contemplating this.
Monday Morning
Last week I used Romans 8:28 as a password then quickly thought oh, you better not do that, you’ll invite trouble or sorrow to solidify the verse…all things work together for good for His glory.
This errant thinking is the thinking of one who sometimes forgets grace, healing, forgiveness and it is a ploy of the enemy of my soul.
I’m remembering now, a helpful self-thought.
Jesus would never talk to you this way, would never stir such fearful, worrisome, dreadful emotions. Be certain.
Twice in the past few days, my words have been few. I typed and deleted, moved pen from the paper, decided a little was enough.
A card with the words “Psalm 23” printed and underneath, “love, Lisa”.
I woke at 2:48 on Sunday night, the mystery of 3:00 a.m. again. My chest was heavy, but sorrowful, not startled.
There was no rapid beat, only a noticeable bearing down.
I was still as I acknowledged all the recent conversations that God was sifting in my sleep, helping me make sense and accept His peace.
I told a friend about a conversation with someone in fresh grief. They asked “How are they?”
I replied, “Well, when I left, I paused in my car, looked forward and saw that my face was lined black with mascara.”
Then I told them I don’t cry easily. This surprised my friends.
On Monday, I searched for a favorite Psalm, one I’d read aloud some years ago, tears not stopping the verses’ promised song, Psalm 30, a psalm of David.
Many are mourning. I’m only an observer touched by the sorrow of others.
I know the promise is true, the one that promises dancing from mourning.
I know it’s a long journey, one of patience with self because of our patient and loving God.
I know that healing comes. Quite often, I require a reminder.
Psalm 30 is that.
For me, maybe you.
“I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up and have not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.
O Lord, you have brought up my soul from Sheol; you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit. Sing praises to the Lord, O you his saints, and give thanks to his holy name. For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
As for me, I said in my prosperity, “I shall never be moved.” By your favor, O Lord, you made my mountain stand strong; you hid your face; I was dismayed. To you, O Lord, I cry, and to the Lord I plead for mercy: “What profit is there in my death, if I go down to the pit? Will the dust praise you? Will it tell of your faithfulness?
Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me! O Lord, be my helper!” You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!” Psalm 30:1-12 ESV
A second friend whose father was a friend and a father figure to me spoke of her grief in this season. I’m no expert on grief, I assure you.
But, she said what felt like truth and comfort and evidence of her patience with herself in her journey. I may not quote her exactly, just the gist of it.
Grief never goes away, our lives just become more full around its center.
I wonder if I’m more observant of the light because of darkness so early or if it’s a needy seeking of quietness with myself leading to peace with God.
I found a feather next to the pretty bottle we store our found feathers, my granddaughter’s sweet solution I adore.
Left for Finding Light of the World Known
“In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:4-5 NIV
And God said, “Let there be light.” and there was light. Genesis 1:3 ESV
Thinking of light and darkness like knowledge vs. mystery or questions vs. answers, certainty vs. doubt, I found John 1 and had a quiet little cry.
We don’t know it all, but we do know light, love and hope.
Light is trust.
“We are conformed to Him in proportion as our lives grow in quietness, His peace spreading within our souls.” T.T. Carter, Joy & Strength devotional
In quiet confidence is your strength. (Isaiah 30:15)
There’s comfort in understanding more clearly. There is new perspective found in new knowledge.
I calculated the years of my daddy’s life events one evening. I recalled the information about the grandfather I never met, the details of his murder.
My older brother is good at research. He is skilled in looking into causes of things. He’s intelligent and a seeker of knowledge.
As I read of the circumstances of my father’s father’s death and then his mother’s passing later, I felt a veil lift, a veil that brought empathy, greater understanding.
From my calculations based on my father’s obituary and the details my brother shared,
My daddy was 13 when his daddy was taken from him. He grew into adulthood with his mama and siblings then went to Korea for how long, I don’t know.
He came home from war. Two days later, his mama died of a massive stroke. The grandmother I wish I’d known, along with the grandpa who contributed to the handsome man with the gentle spirit
And at times, tortured soul. No surprise.
I began to think of how life is such a mix of mystery and truth, vague recollections of family dynamics we just gloss over, afraid to look bravely enough at the vulnerability and pain of those we knew and know.
There’s a story buried, deeply concealed under most everyone’s story.
I believe this.
There’s me and three siblings who have raised wise children, children who are resilient even if they’re unclear how come. There are grandchildren who deep within have a yet untapped stream of strength from whence they don’t yet know.
I believe this.
Today, I sit with a sleeping kitten close by. I smile as I think this wouldn’t surprise my mama or daddy, even those long lost grandparents.
I smile because I imagine them wondering what took you so long to accept the truth of you.
The quiet one who is most satisfied quiet, the complex one always hoping someone will understand. The creature much like a cat, letting others near on her own terms.
I imagine my grandmother seeing me making notes and writing in my Bible. I see them all content in their contribution to who I am and who I’m becoming.
I see them happy about the heritage I’m creating for my children and grandchildren, even if messy or often unsure, always unseen, but hopefully remembered, my prayers.
They see, alongside my Father, my secret prayers.
Mystery and truth, I’ve come to believe that’s life,
life as a follower of Jesus who keeps following and life as a human in this wrought with pain world.
In the margin of Deuteronomy’s chapters, I find sketches of women, underlined reminders of being humbled by God.
I find a drawing of a door with the words above it “the secret things belong to the Lord.”(Deuteronomy 29:29)
I see notes to self to “pray big prayers”. I discover a sketch of the earth with my words “In His hands we dwell.”
The book of Deuteronomy, a retelling of the teachings of God by Moses, a reluctant teller of stories, a rescued child chosen by God although he was certain he was unworthy.
I see God in the history, mystery and truth of my family. I pray the same is said in the mystery of me.
“The Lord heard you when you spoke to me, and the Lord said to me, “I have heard what this people said to you. Everything they said was good. Oh, that their hearts would be inclined to fear me and keep all my commands always, so that it might go well with them and their children forever!” Deuteronomy 5:28-29 NIV
Continue and believe.
Overcomers, we are.
A heritage.
“And he brought us out from there, that he might bring us in and give us the land that he swore to give to our fathers.” Deuteronomy 6:23 ESV
Among a crowd of frenetic students changing classes, a presence walked up behind me. I’d found myself caught up in a crowd that made no sense, I was just searching for the hallway to the laundry room in what others said was a nonsensical place.
I lost the landlord, a woman with a snarky pride over her Air BnB that she denied was in disrepair. She scurried through dark hallways and then she wasn’t there. I returned to the place where the others had complained about my clothes left in the dryer. There another led me through the toddler nursery. A cat slipped by my feet and joined in our fast walking. Suddenly, I’m in a room filled with cats and dogs. We pause to confront the property manager who asked “Where the hell did you go?”
I gave no reply. A cat vomited on my foot and the frustrated helper sighed.
I struck out on my own again, ready to gather my laundry next to my chest and begin the long trip back home from this less than idyllic weekend getaway.
That’s when the students were thronged together, they chattered and marched or had heads down persevering.
The man measures his steps to match mine. Asks, “Why the sad face, are you lost?” He comments about the owner, agrees with the rooms being in disrepair. He walks beside me.
I’m hesitant, but turn to see an easy smile, a jawline in need of a shave and a glint of hazel eye.
He points me to the door that leads to the laundry, has my warm clothes in the dryer.
Quickly and cautiously I say, “I gotta hurry, gotta get back to South Carolina.”
He walks on his way.
I gather my laundry and think of describing the encounter with the stranger who showed me the way, of the satisfaction of finding words to fit emotion. In my dream, I wrote a story about the kindness of a stranger.
The kindness that gave me comfort in the finding again of just the right words.
I decided to write here about this dream not as an invitation to interpretation or to cause you to consider how deep or a littlecrazy I might be. On both I concur. No, I had a dream that made me think of writing as beauty and I woke to think, maybe, just maybe I will write. I haven’t shelved that dream altogether. It’s still a joy.
and the kitten climbed the skinny crepe myrtle higher,
leaves fell like feathers and I underlined, then reread.
“Doing those deeply unfashionable things…slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting…is a radical act now, but it is essential. This is a crossroads we all know, a moment when you need to shed a skin.
If you do, you’ll expose all these painful nerve endings and feel so raw that you’ll need to take care of yourself for a while.
If you don’t, then that skin will harden around you. It’s one of the most important choices you’ll ever make.”
“Wintering, The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times” by Katherine May
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 