Seeing and Being Seen

Abuse Survivor, Art, artist calendar, bravery, calendar, Children, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, grandchildren, hope, obedience, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wisdom, writing

Jesus Saw

My grandson wanted his mommy to stay home. It took a bit to help him get to a place of accepting it would be the two of us for just a bit. I held him close, hand on his back and my cheek against his head.

“I know. I know.” I said.

Homemade pizza for breakfast softened his little longing and then within minutes he said , “G’Ma let’s paint!”

I painted. He continued his fascination with paper and Elmer’s glue.

Earlier, my not yet daylight drive brought thoughts that became a string of connectedness and a new way to see a longing I’ve always known.

The longing to be seen.

Late afternoon now and I’m thinking of how the hurts we experience or the lack we may have known are parts of stories we do very well to come to terms with even if we’re never able to make them make sense.

I walked without sound other than the leaves rustled up by the wind. I realized I should never go back to noise in my ears on my walks again.

I’m beginning to think more clearly, to love making sense of things and then putting words to them. To love writing again. (Doing my best to have intentionality in writing here)

A memory came as I walked. One so clear it could’ve been that very October day so many years ago.

There are countless memories I can’t grasp and I’m afraid even more I wish my mind would loosen its grip on.

I told a friend yesterday that I often think of quitting when it comes to creative expression. I told her I knew I could not. I knew I never would. I knew it might always be a painful thorn for me, the reality of the way it pains me emotionally to feel unseen, worse yet ignored or rejected.

I know the reasons why and that knowing helps me take very good care of this tender ache. All the same, I wish it did not pain me so after so very long.

I remembered that memory too hard to share, better kept to myself and I told myself gently it’s a gracious miracle that you are here and that you’re an artist.

And that little chat with myself as I walked is a beautiful truth.

I certainly know it’s only my “being seen and known” by God all along the way that has both equipped me and generously given so very much.

I heard two women on a podcast today talking about mountains and valleys. I heard one talk about Moses not making it to the promised land after all he’d struggled to do in obedience and all the years of wilderness wandering with people he was called to lead who were not always grateful followers.

The podcast hosts talked of how that seemed to them so very wrong, so unfair to Moses. But who are they, who are we to get to decide how far God will let someone’s dream/calling come to fruition?

After all, God is God and we are not.

I listened as the woman continued. She had a catch in her voice as she began to share the realization that gave her immeasurable hope.

She read about another time Moses is mentioned. This time he is right beside Elijah and alongside Jesus as our Father God proclaimed, “This is my Son”.

And so, the realization came that after forty earthly years, Moses did not enter the promised land but we get to be sure he made it. The promise was fulfilled.

I remembered this podcast while walking and I remember driving back home on the same “grandma day” road as I felt my eyes become wet with tears.

A thought came.

I will be painting in heaven, in heaven I will paint.

I remembered the early morning thought alongside this confidence. I thought of my longing to be seen, how I’m trying to understand the need in ways that I can grow from.

Three people came to mind. The man paralyzed on a mat, Zacchaeus, and the woman with the blood stained clothes.

I thought of the man lying flat on his back while others bathed in a pool that led to healing. Because he’d been an invalid for so many years I wondered if there were days others tried to either convince him to try or actually helped him into the water and then, after a while he’d developed a reputation. Maybe onlookers concluded he’d accepted his debilitating condition, no need to try, just look away.

But, Jesus came one day and told him, “Get up”. Sort of I know you’ve been here a long time and it makes no sense now to try, but I see you. I want you to try.

“Jesus saw him laying there…” John 5:6-7

I think of a tax collector, a man with a reputation who maybe wanted to undo all of his greed motivated wrongs. A man climbed a tree just to see Jesus. Jesus looked up. Jesus saw him and changed his life.

“And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up…”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭19‬:‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I think about the woman in blood covered garments in the midst of a curious throng. She didn’t want to be noticed by anyone, just get close to Jesus. No one paused to see her, a woman desperate and dirty. But, Jesus felt her reaching for him and then he turned and saw her.

“Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter…”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭9‬:‭22‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ve just finished up three collages layered deeply with torn paper and another painting has been sealed. My idea for abstracts telling the story of God’s enclosure of us in His fold is in the initial brushstroke phase.

I’ve just proofed the 2026 Calendar and I’m a bit joyous over its beauty. Even more over the hope that the artwork inspired by “Whatever is lovely…” (Philippians 4:6-9) will be a hopeful mainstay for others.

You can purchase a calendar here:

2026 Calendar

“Artist and writer”, a tagline on a letter I just sent as an introduction to my writing hopes.

I won’t lose heart. I will always hope and hope I see others in ways that they need.

I pray my words and my art offer hope.

Writing and Striving

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Truth, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, writing

After about an hour, I stopped.

I decided it will be better, be okay if I do this some other time, some other day.

A savvy and successful young advisor has been advising on many new ways to “get my art in front of people”.

I was honest with her, attributed it to my age,

“I can’t keep up with all of “the things.” She suggests a schedule, the better use of and acceptance of AI.

I tell myself and others and her,

I don’t want it done for me without “me”. Plus, I don’t want to become so automated that I lose not just my voice but my ability to write in my very own honest voice.

Last night, seemingly out of the blue, a blog post was commented on. The post was nearly seven years old. I felt nostalgic. I felt the feelings back then, a story about a bird on a porch.

I also noticed I don’t write nearly as freely as before. I believe it’s the pressure. It’s the distractions, it’s the chasing after people to convince them to visit my artist website, it’s a subtle cojoling of readers to buy my art so that I will feel good enough.

Here’s the post that represents who I want to get back to:

https://lisaannetindal.com/2017/11/30/flying-parallel/

I can be hard of myself, I know.

It’s true I’m older, more busy, have grown as an artist and so am otherwise engaged.

Still, I want to find that sweet and wise voice again. I believe I will.

I also believe I’ll have to do some deciding of what to keep and what to let go, decide whether to let the stories I carry be too important to be used as fodder for my “growth”.

Deciding doing all the things is less important than doing the genuine things.

I ramble.

I stopped striving earlier today, technology causing me to fret. I stopped striving even though I wanted to share my art.

Paintings on paper inspired by old hymns. They’re a little bit abstract, the colors of coal and indigo with just a hint of coral against angular figures.

I want others to be affected by them the way my emotions softened as the end result came through.

Still, I stopped frantically forcing a reel.

Told myself once and again.

Cease striving.

I joined the Substack bandwagon and I’m on the fence as to whether to stay on board.

I hope to resume writing here. It’s always felt like home.

Time will tell. I’ll wait and see.

For now, here’s my voice on Substack. I’d love to know what you think.

https://open.substack.com/pub/lisaannetindal2/p/seeing-more-clearly?r=1eavkz&utm_medium=ios

Thanks for following along on this circuitous trip of my life and my art, both redemptive stories.

Prayer As Color

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, Art, bravery, confidence, courage, creativity, curiousity, freedom, grace, grandchildren, grief, Holy Spirit, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, traumatriggers, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, wonder

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair;
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭4‬:‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I reached down to be sure what his little hand clutched. A tiny pebble under close inspection before he stood and let it go, flinging it with strong conviction into the wide grey sky.

We began our walk hoping to miss the rain.

We did.

The trail is new. The path is hilly but smooth, a firebreak for the wide field of brush and trees.

I had a sense I’d been trying to shake all morning, a feeling that even though all was okay, I better be ready for the day to change, for something to go the other way.

I’m writing less about my trauma, a blend of keeping quiet and of looking more closely at wounds than ever before.

Like a little boy inspecting a pebble or stick, I’ve been quietly inspecting the hurts I’ve known in a much more intentional way.

With brave curiosity and braver acceptance…stages of grief.

So, that ache of readying to be ready for something bad is familiar and not at all friendly.

We walked and held hands and watched from a distance

Until the gift of freedom and hope ignited the sweet “setting out” on his own steps of my grandson.

And the weight of worry began to lift.

And I breathed deeply.

Looked around.

Looked up.

Prayed silently.

Added music to our walk.

Reached down with curiosity to touch a mottled leaf to discover the other side, rich in the color of fresh blood, of wine, vibrant.

I slipped it in my pocket, little “H” reached for me, both arms up and I responded as we turned for home.

Sensing the comfort of God, the assurance my fears and protective patterns are not hidden, are well known

And nurtured by God in a way that no longer leads to shame.

My vulnerabilities with God are no longer perceived fodder for Him to refute my faith.

Instead, an invitation to grace and bravery

mercy extended to me by myself.

“Grandma day” mornings begin early. My quiet time is brief and blurry.

I opened my journal to jot February 28, 2024 to discover one sentence from yesterday.

“Jesus, help me to see you today.”

Knowing, suddenly He had.

He did.

The color red, the deep crimson colored leaf like aged wine had been poured for me, left in the dirt, on a long ago fallen leaf, a cup with just a sip waiting for me to drink.

I’d been asking to see color.

Yesterday, the request was different and the answer was love.

”Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.“
‭‭Jude‬ ‭1‬:‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

Lightly Yielding

aging, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, fear, hope, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wonder

It’s the time of year that God allows a sprinkling here and there of soft green woven “pillows”. I know there’s a name for them. I can’t remember it. I just find them so pretty. I tiptoe around them, aware of what I see as fragility.

We walked carefully over the tangled vines and fallen branches. Toddler, Henry in his little boots smaller than my hand. I let him venture barely three steps away from me then wrapped him in my arms to be sure he didn’t high tail it to the place his curiosity was calling.

I heard the water, the creek too shielded by overgrowth to see and too uncertain for us to go seeking. So, we just circled round and round, he intent on going deeper in and me, scooping him up to walk where it was more safe and clear.

He resisted yielding again and again.

The unknown and interesting was a steady call to his little investigative mind.

As if to say, I need to know, I need to see, it must be really special, this place I can’t see, these things I don’t yet know.

Yet, it was too risky for us to go, too unsafe for him to go alone.

I wonder why there’s such resistance to yielding. Why I’m so prone to striking out on my own in fits of figure it out or fix it before it’s too late.

When all that’s required, all that’s an absolute undeserved gift,

Is to yield.

This morning, I flipped to today in “Jesus Calling”, a kind and beautifully patient collection of words I’ll carry as I go, one open hand to heaven and the other secretly imagining my hand like a child’s reaching up again to the suggestion of my Savior,

“Hold my hand.”

“As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.”

Continue and believe, lightly yielding.

You are loved.

I Will Go. I Will Stay.

aging, bravery, Children, confidence, courage, Faith, family, grandchildren, memoir, Redemption, Trust, walking, wisdom, wonder

Yesterday, G’Pa announced to Elizabeth and I that he’d never seen the creek. The land is deep and wide around their home and down in the valley on the edge there’s a pretty little creek. I said “We should go see it” and then quickly G’Pa and I said no. It seemed risky I guess. It’d be a big production to get boots on, be sure the grandbabies could be carried safely and even more to remember exactly how to get there when I’d only been once.

Back then, I was fascinated by its beauty, this secret place worth pursuing.

But, we probably made the best choice, two sixty-something year olds striking out on an adventure with a four and one year old. We’ll go maybe with extra help to guide us soon. It’s not something we should do on our own.

Life has things for us to do, scary and uncertain, maybe little secrets that require bravery.

”Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.“
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭41‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

God woke me up with the thought of His Sovereignty, the reality that wherever I am,

He is too.

I put the thoughts together before daylight, remembering the idea of second children’s book about fear that I had kinda shelved away. It seems the idea might be calling my name to remember and revisit it.

With these new thoughts about walking into obscure and beautiful places even if scary:

I will go if you go.
Through the brittle winter field

And into the forest
Up the hill and down the

hill to the slippery spaces
and up the hill again

Around the corner and careful

don’t step on the vines

with sticky sharp thorns and then the water round the corner will appear

The bubbling shiny place

You made it!
I told you.

I will go with you and
I will stay.

I will go.

I will go if you go.

I will stay.

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

confidence, creativity, grace, happy, jubilee, memoir, Redemption, walking, wonder

Day 27 – Music

I scrolled through my podcast offerings needing an accompaniment for my walk.

A walk that would serve to settle me and unravel anxiety before I paint “live” a little later.

I chose music instead and I chose Sandra McCracken.

Her voice reminds me of the music my parents, especially my daddy loved.

She’s a little Loretta Lynn and a little bit Patsy Cline, softer versions of both and yet a voice that’s strong.

When you think of music, what are your memories?

When I hear Edwin McCain, I remember our wedding day. (Edwin McCain is so good in concert, btw).

When I remember my newfound strength as a single mother, it’s Sheryl Crow.

In my car is a burned CD compiled by my daughter. In sharpie letters, it’s marked, “Mama’s Michelob Mix”. Miranda Lambert type vibes when I needed to be a little more free.

If I hear James Taylor, I remember my son as a middle school baseball player. We were on a country road together and he sang along to “You’ve Got A Friend” with me.

Nowadays, I’m listening to Lauren Daigle, Chris Renzema and Steffany Gretzinger.

And Alison, always Alison Krauss.

Sing, it’s good for the soul.

Who needs more advice on being your best self anyway?

“Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts.”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭105‬:‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

31 days of good things

Children, contentment, Faith, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Peace, Stillness, Vulnerability, walking

Day 23 – Beauty By Surprise

In a time when objects catch your eye, welcoming at times and at others, a shockingly unwelcome stealing your gaze, it is good to be captivated by surprise.

The light landing on places, causing leaves to glisten, overgrown weeds or wildflowers to shine.

I thought to write about the goodness of dark chocolate with almonds since my “good” yesterday was a little heavy,

But, today with a baby boy in a stroller, I’ll stick with “beauty by surprise”.

Beauty you can’t stop looking for, beauty you know intersected your day because God saw your secrets, knew you needed to see something beautiful and untainted by humanity.

Baby Henry kicking his little feet and learning early, Grandma stops often, pauses on our walks and stands still with her eyes closed or sometimes just looks long at the sky.

And then, she walks.

A peaceful walk, a beautiful way.

31 days of good

birds, bravery, contentment, Faith, grace, mercy, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wonder

Day 4 – grace

I woke this morning with a nudge, actually a shameful shove. Maybe only I’d know it.

Words shared were hard, a hint of judgment.

So, I asked for mercy, for any damage to be undone and I went on in to the morning.

Saw a sparrow in a flash of flight on the porch, a morning glory vine with only one bloom, and a glimmer of light through a spot in the brush.

And I decided to give myself grace.

To filter future thoughts the best I can through a measure and pause…

Offer hope, don’t harbor wrong.

I am strong because grace is strong, I am steady in the embrace of grace.

Grace, the timidity of its tone, an invitation to live gently, privately strong. No need for notice, trophy or display of said strength.

Go quietly with grace.

Growing Pains

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, contentment, Faith, grandchildren, grief, memoir, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, wonder

“The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭90‬:‭10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In the night, I’m awakened by deep pain in the upper right arm. I turn to the other side, feed my arm though the pillow, let my hand rest against the headboard.

For a few moments, who knows how long since sleeping either feels like a long long time or only just a minute.

The ache returns. I shift. I reposition.

I sleep.

My trainer says it’s likely the tendon that has some tearing. So I choose a lighter weight.

I don’t stop lifting.

She adds it’s likely the baby carrying and pauses and with no regard for my emotions, concludes…

Also, the painting, the steady and repetitive motion of the brushing of paint on a canvas.

And I’m startled in a serious way.

“Ohhhh…” I say.

Meaning, “Oh no!” but keeping that tinge of grief to myself.

Then the advisors advise.

“Rotator cuff”, “tough surgery”

“You don’t want to mess with that.”

“A supplement is what you need, CoQ10 is wonderful.”

So, yes. I’m now a supplement(s) consumer.

Because I’m painting still and I’m still holding the baby.

I’m growing. I’m aging. My arms are past sixty years of good and meaningful use.

Moving towards 70.

Contemplatively beginning to number my days.

“So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭90‬:‭12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m walking with my grandson in the same morning way I walked with my four year old granddaughter. She loved and loves talking.

He likes music.

Soon, he’ll be running.

I’ll be teaching him about the “stay in the middle, middle, middle, middle.”

To keep his eyes on the road, to distinguish between a root and a snake.

Soon, he’ll be sprinting.

My legs will need to be able to keep up.

So, I keep moving.

I keep using what I got.

And I’ll keep growing.

I’ll make sure the soil of my soul is fertile.

My arms connected like branches to the nourishment of the vine, my Savior.

Because like the worn out tendons, the much used bones, the hands and fingers used to hold and to create and to cherish the objects I’ve been gifted to make.

I must care for them.

I must nurture my growth.

Wisdom comes in knowing.

In knowing, God’s not finished with me yet.

I’m still growing.

The majestic oak that cushions the curve is shedding its bark. Brownish grey paper size pieces of bark are scattered in the weeds. The thick and arm like branches from the hefty trunk are now a pristine color.

I told myself last week

“Your branches are brittle, your reaching has distanced you from the vine.”

I’m less than seven years from seventy.

My mama was buried the day before her 70th.

Hers and my health are not close to the same but our stories are marked by similar trauma, a similar tenacity and I believe, a comparable hope and a love for living.

I thought of her in the fog of today’s morning. I have things I want to say.

“It’s unfair”, I said to no one within hearing.

“Yes, it is.” I answered and continued into my day.

Knowing she’d say “Choose life today, Lisa. Choose life. Keep turning the page.”

Keep growing.

Continue being brave.

The pains you’re noticing are proof.

Proof of your choosing life despite pain, despite unfairness and in the midst of necessary change.

Keep returning.

Returning to rest in me.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved.

In quietness and confidence is your strength.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭15‬ ‭NLT‬‬

When my children were babies, we walked to the creek, the clay road with deep ditches, one holding my hand or running fast ahead, the other held tightly in my arms…one hand under the booty and the other around the chest.

Holding tightly.

Holding on.

Without limits or conditions.

Love keeps us strong, letting go while embracing new.