Have you wondered if God sees the wrong, personal and in your home, our world? I’m comparing Hagar and Martha, two women distraught and dissatisfied. God saw them both, brought gentle words, reassurance and courage, made them more wise.
Wisdom
She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me, for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” Genesis 16: 13 NIV
Is the mystery of knowing God is sovereign a contradiction at times? Have you experienced uncertainty that has led to a feeling of loneliness? Is there some situation you feel held captive by and alone? Have you found yourself in a relationship or a pattern that either has you trapped or do you somehow feel you contributed to it and thus, belong?
Women, especially mothers who are in unhealthy relationships are in complex situations. Unhealthy relationships that entrap us are very misunderstood. There is no easy answer to the question, “Why didn’t you leave?”, a question no woman should be asked.
This is a question for which many women have no answer. The layers and the reasons are hard to explain. Abusive relationships, emotionally or unhealthy in other ways have a way of numbing a woman to the day to day. Once women are able to find the strength to leave, there’s no value in revisiting the rationale for staying. I suppose I’m saying “Don’t ask.” along with “Stop asking yourself.”
Women who find themselves in situations apart from God, from friends and family are trapped, they are perplexed.
“Perplexed”, the meaning is completely baffled, very puzzled.
I think of two women in the Bible, Hagar and Martha. Hagar, because she found herself the bait of a tormented woman who wanted her way and got it. Hagar, the servant who provided a longed-for child in exchange for provision found herself cast aside and alone, having to make the decision to allow her son to die alone so she did not have to witness the loss.
Martha, who was a friend of Jesus’s and had been gently warned of her priorities found herself at a loss over why her brother was dying and Jesus had not yet come.
I wonder if it occurred to them, they got what they deserved; many women do, believe they deserve abuse and for that abuse to go unnoticed by God.
I pray you’ve never thought this way.
I pray you never do again.
Wisdom
Hagar and Martha were fully seen and known by God. The mystery? The perplexing thing? Why so long, God? Why was my desperation needed for you to come through? These are questions much like the question posed to a victim of abuse for which we won’t have answers.
There is comfort in comparing our stories, not just with Biblical women; but, with others. We intersect women with dropped faces and lost dispositions, babies in their arms, children tagging along. We can offer understanding, a smile, a knowing nod and prayer.
We can find a way to relate to others who are trapped in perplexing situations while waiting for God’s rescue. We can assure them it will come.
We can give praise alongside when it does.
A Prayer:
Father, our God who sees and knows, help us to help one another. Help us to respond with an offer of connection rather than question. We are comforted by the knowledge of being seen by you, even if we do not fully understand. Make us open to the hardship of others without judgement. Remind us of your ever-present gaze. We are thankful to be able to say, because of mercy, in Jesus’ name, Amen.
The two paintings in this post will be available on April 1st through The Scouted Studio’s Emerging Artist Show. Other art can be found at http://www.lisaannetindal.me
Over several weeks, I sat at the desk in my art room and pieced together a broken bowl. It had fallen to the counter as I put dishes away at my daughter’s home, a loud crash and pieces and chunks of pretty white with raised polka dots was destroyed.
Instantly, I thought “Here’s your chance, try kintsugi.” (the ancient art of repairing broken pottery with gold)
I laid out the pieces, gathered gorilla glue and thick gold paint and began. It couldn’t be rushed.
It was a thing of patience and phases, requiring me to allow the repair of one section before beginning the next.
Covered in a cloth in case my daughter stopped by, I continued imperfectly because of missing pieces, adding blue from a broken intentionally cup for fill ins and well, just because it was pretty.
Finished, it became a gift to her for Valentine’s Day.
Last week, I heard words that were not new,
“We live in a broken world.”
The pastor added with emphasis in his message on “expectations” and I received the familiar phrase differently.
It was time.
Have you considered yourself broken by life? Maybe you do now. I began to think of other catchy phrases like “broken and beautiful or beautifully broken” and pondered how we can be both.
I sat in the sanctuary between my strong son-in-law and a very large, burly man who sang every word to every song and sighed like a little boy at the passages about God’s love, no condemnation anymore and other promises because of God’s spirit in us.
I thought, “I’m not broken, after all, all along it’s been this world and what it caused others to do to me.”
“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Isaiah 43:19 ESV
Journaled on Monday:
This world is broken and so, things that happen or happened may determine you to be broken. But remember, you are whole, made whole fully and even more whole and unbroken as you allow yourself to understand the difference. You are not broken. The world still is; but no, you are not broken, not you. Not broken made beautiful as much as simply beautiful, redemptively beautiful, completely so.
To say I’m in need of my Heavenly Father, my Savior, His Spirit in me is not saying I’m broken, it’s more of a humble recognition of my identity now, in light of then.
God caused me to consider self-condemnation in my sleep last night. I’d been thinking of the practice of Lent and intentional changes. God had a better idea, told me what I really needed to let go of is self-condemnation.
The thought danced in my mind all night and I woke to consider it and journaled.
Self-condemnation turns me inward, causes me to fixate on my failures. Self-condemnation is not a healthy or even godly self-assessment. Instead, it’s an obsession with myself in a way that’s tricky, makes you think it’s a companion to humility.
Humility acknowledges with reverence the repaired places you were broken, made new, places you were unable and now have courageous abilities. Humility shines a soft light on the places you were weakened by wrong, but now are allowing yourself to grow strong.
Humility says “thank you”. Self-condemnation says you’ll always be “too far gone”.
Happy Place (detail)
I gifted the bowl and later sent my daughter a note I’d saved in “Notes”.
Kintsugi is the ancient art of fixing broken pottery with gold. … Kintsugi reminds us that something can break and yet still be beautiful, and that, once repaired, it is stronger at the broken places. This is an incredible metaphor for healing and recovery from adversity
Strange gifts from me don’t surprise my children and they know the unspoken truth of most of my gifts being gifts with a deeper meaning. No need for spoken explanations, just hope for little contributions to my legacy of love always.
And hope that I see this bowl, others who pass by or stand in her kitchen pause and maybe take a deep breath and rest assured.
We’re not broken anymore. We are beautiful and slightly imperfect, yet made new.
“For he satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul he fills with good things.” Psalm 107:9 ESV
Everything’s about to bloom except my orchid. But, I’ll not give up. The leaves are bright green cushions comforting the base of the stalks. The soil is laced with the thin fallen blooms of before. I know the morning is soon. The morning I turn towards the sun striped wall and I see the buds fat with flora.
Blooming
Prayer and patience, I think.
The tiny grocery store hyacinth I bought to think of my Grandmother will be transplanted to the front yard. Spring, not this, but the next, I’ll look out my morning window and see the green breaking soil. I’ll wait then for delicate dainty hyacinths to bless the space around my “Angel girl”.
I’ll remind myself. I will remember. I waited and it was good to be hopeful, to be patient prayerfully.
The Valentine’s Day bouquet is refilled with fresh water. A day lily amongst the pink and purple will soon open, soft tangerine.
I’ll wait, not like snapping my fingers for things. I’ll wait and keep watering what God has planted in me. This is my contribution.
I’ll look towards the orchid and I’ll see its dust colored branches stretching and curving towards the window. I’ll see it going after what it can’t live without. I’ll know what is needed for growth and I’ll keep watering, keep writing, painting, praying and I will rest quietly because quiet waiting is always best.
I’ll be willing to trust, simply planted and willing. I’ll remain rooted and I’ll not doubt the nourishment I’m given from My Father. I’ll allow it to change me from the roots to the branches to the sharing my story.
I’ll not doubt possible blooming. I know it will come and not just for me.
For others too, weakness made strong, broken made unbreakable, redeemed with a story worth sharing.
I pray it’s the same with you.
Continue and believe.
“For there is hope of a tree, If it be cut down, that it will sprout again, And that the tender branch thereof will not cease.” Job 14:7 ASV
I’m linking up with others, prompted by the word “Stretch”. What an interesting prompt,
“Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” John 14:5 ESV
Good Morning, God
Last night, this verse kept coming back up in and out of my sleep. I didn’t have it correct though, I thought the “soul at rest”.
“For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.” Romans 8:6 ESV
I made a list of ways I try to quiet my soul when I’m troubled or worried. There was a trend; overthinking, overeating, over drinking that glass of wine, over exercising, over scrolling on my phone, over comparing my life to others, over imagining catastrophic things.
I remembered the peace of adding thick paste on tiny canvases and manipulating the shape into crosses.
Remember
There, in the messy place scattered with stop and start paintings and in progress projects, I sat the small crosses aside to rest.
Anything I use to rescue myself becomes so noisy, I can barely hear, sense, remember God’s Spirit in me, much less imagine him holding my left hand with his right.
We add noises, actions, resolutions and solutions to our lives intent on well-intentioned improvements.
We forget we were never expected to nor are we able on our own. The flesh is so weak, but the Spirit so strong and sweetly longing to be stronger.
“It is not He who is far away from us, but we from Him.” Mother Francis Raphael
Not Able on My Own
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” John 14:26-27 ESV
A ladybug landed next to my boot camp exercise mat. The heavy bar for chest lifts and the wayward yoga ball were waiting for the next series of reps.
I should’ve stayed home.
I should have skipped this class. Vague queasiness threatens as I move from crunches to cardio. I feel my neck tighten and I fear the later headache.
Slowly, then kindly to myself I say, “Breathe, breathe.” The little ladybug still sitting near as I speak kindly again, “Breathe again, slowly and intentionally. Soon you will see, the fearful feelings are fading. You will see. It is good to be here.”
Isolation never suggests we challenge ourselves.
Isolation loves the lingering in the same place, same way of being. We convince ourselves it’s the safe place, even the stoic choice more than seeing it as a settled stagnation.
We fear change.
We stay.
Early yesterday, the rain began with a whoosh of wave, heavy early as I woke, no need for my alarm for an 8:00 meeting for breakfast.
In a very gentle way, God has been telling me to be with others, to step back into life, towards even greater healing and to love others, unafraid.
It began with breakfast on Thursday and again on Friday. Later today, a third time to be with a friend among other women, lots of them.
I’m not naturally social. Still, I knew I’d been becoming way too alone.
Even for me.
It was God who told me to be with others again, to embrace what is theirs to give, to give some parts of myself in exchange.
I feel God beside me.
On my left wrist I’ve been marking a Sharpie’d cross, I sense a strong hand holding, a with-ness as I go, a never letting go.
I sense God with me as I go although I don’t know quite where I am going or how my going will change me.
I sense a rising up in my soul, to greet the greater things, leave the lesser things already learned behind.
There is more. There are greater things.
I believe.
Thank you for helping me, God, for being my helper.
Thank you, Lord.
My resistance to a life lived fully has lessened. The moving from isolation is an invitation I’m responding to, a sweet and invigorating choice.
Now, the Saturday sunshine dances on the weave of my blanket. There’s an energy uplifting.
A dance that says “join me”, it’s safe to step in.
Life’s a dance, right? At least according to Garth Brooks
Learn as you go, just please keep going.
“fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 ESV
“And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation.
And this hope will not lead to disappointment.” Romans 5:4-5 NLT
As quickly as possible, she glided just in front of me, eye level. The robin with the determined forward facing beak and the copper like an old country barn belly intersected my path.
Colors
Last night I dreamt of white camellias mixed in with the crimson ones, a dream that followed a nightmare so vivid I sat straight up and startled my husband. He called me from work, confused over the brazenness of a bad dream occurring after I’d had such a love-filled day. He was worried.
Told him I was better. Thoughts we hide away like to come to the surface, I suppose. They refuse to go unattended. They become weapons in the hand of our enemy until we bravely surrender them to God in a lamenting letter or prayer.
So, I journal. I sit. I give God time to come and comfort.
To teach.
Wisdom
Simplicity is calling. I heard the birds waking up early outside my cold quiet home and I let my pen rest, closed my journal.
Could this be prayer?
Prayer mostly listening, uncomplicated by words or prescriptive wisdom?
I listened as the birds continued singing.
We looked for ponds yesterday and found them on the narrow country roads.
The sky was as blue as a diamond found next to the ocean.
The ponds as flat as stepping stones, little rippling at all.
“Here’s another one!” I announced to my granddaughter and she gazed so sweetly satisfied in our togetherness in noticing the water.
Yesterday, the robin met me and I kept driving to see my daughter and hers, felt the determination of a bird assuring me, better is coming.
Soon, it will be Spring. I saw other birds on Saturday, but it’s the robin I’ll remember.
The robin saying, “Set your intention. Your story is not yet finished.”
Your teachers are everywhere, saying this is the way, keep walking in it. (Isaiah 30:18)
Life is a beautiful, simple adventure.
Plump robins, blue skies scattered with white puffs, happy green fields anticipating Spring and flat fishing ponds hoping to be spotted, evidence of good, evidence of God’s intentional nature.
And interspersed in the noticing, friends I feared I’d forgotten too long remembered me, separately in the same day and I was a tiny bit amazed.
grace and love
God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.
Yesterday morning, I journaled a tender question. I asked God if my friends I call my “colors” are disappointed in me.
Time so quickly passing and I’d lost touch, gotten complacent with our stories and wondered if it matters.
One by one, I heard from four friends yesterday. Two of them, it had been over a year or more. I share such a tender question here so that you’ll see, along with me.
Wrapped in bright yellow foil scattered with pink and baby blue, the potted daffodils at Publix called my name.
I bought the pot of fully grown flowers and moved them into a terra cotta pot. The bird girl statue Elizabeth calls “our Angel girl” now holds a tray of potted pansies slowly wilting in one hand and the other, upward reaching daffodils on bright silky green.
They won’t last long, already full grown. What’s the use, I thought standing in the produce section staring longingly at the happy yellow flowers.
I thought of hope.
Thought of so much hope that’s in a state of deference, waiting for new life, waiting for evidence of our dreams being worth dreaming for again.
I thought of a song as I painted last week.
Like Springtime
An obscure songwriter not many will know, Chris Renzema, penned lyrics that keep dancing softly with me.
I first heard this song over a year ago. It just won’t let me go.
We will sing a new song ‘Cause death is dead and gone with the winter We will sing a new song Let “hallelujahs” flow like a river We’re coming back to life Reaching towards the light Your love is like springtime.
I walked yesterday, briefly and mostly for fresh air to cycle through my chest to move towards healing from a three day cough.
I saw the daffodils and had a new idea, hope and anticipation of Spring next year, of the daffodils the angel is holding today popping up like little joys encircling the statue.
Spring of 2023 will have me looking towards the little spot I treasure and I’ll watch and wait and laugh quietly when the flowers pop up in a cluster to say to me, see you hoped and waited and we came.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12 ESV
“We’re coming back to life Reaching towards the light Your love is like springtime
Come tend the soil Come tend the soil of my soul And like a garden And like a garden I will grow I will grow.”
Today marks the date of a phone call twelve years ago, my baby brother’s voice saying softly,
“She’s gone.” and the memory of my woeful sobbing, my head dropping heavy to my desk.
Mama, I’ve grown.
I’ll keep growing and hoping and looking heavenward. It’s hard to fathom, but impossible not to believe.
I’ll see you again. Like Springtime, it will be a beautiful day.
Until then, I’ll have a piece of coconut cake tomorrow and I’ll remember your truths.
“Lisa, never take backward steps, only move forward.” Bette (Elizabeth) Jean Peacock Hendrix 1939-2010
“Let them come to me for refuge; let them make peace with me, yes…” Isaiah 27:5 NIV
This morning I wrote three pages worth of notes without lifting my pen. This practice, “morning pages” is something I’d heard about and thought maybe.
I am often stubborn as a student, slow to be trained by the wisdom of others.
I’m learning.
Yesterday, the entire third page chronicled grace, the preceding two were questions of self and God.
Today, I expressed my confusion over my cat, “Georgia” suddenly and frantically obsessed with the water in my painting jars.
I tracked her movement as my pen moved swiftly blue. Committed to this morning pages practice, day two, I found a lightness in my thinking, a sweetness in allowing the freedom to write about my “just fine Georgia” cat.
She’s frantic and sneaky, moaning in her meowing to get my attention. I wonder if she knocked over the jar on my desk and drank the blue muddied water.
I continued to examine the meaning behind her behavior and transitioned to make it relatable to mine.
Unsettled seeking it seems we have in common. We have a frantic inquisitive nature and little patience with lingering question, longing for fulfillment.
I’d become apathetic about writing. Ambivalent, not just yet because I’ve not lost my love for creativity, just wondering if I’m still able.
Page three of three today asked God about delay, delay in the question I keep asking that remains unanswered.
The more I asked the question in all sorts of way, I began to feel attended to, I began to be okay with not yet knowing, instead continuing while waiting.
I settled down and ended page three wishing there were space for more.
Resting.
Pages lined with swirly words and Georgia settles. Help me to settle, God. Resting. Confident in your ability meeting my willingness.
Day 2, morning pages complete. Writing more like process than performance.
When I think of David, I think he seems to have lived a life marked by thinking one way or the other. He was either desperate or joyous, defeated by his own sins or bravely standing on God’s character and promises for him, for us too.
Honest, David was honest.
“In you, O Lord, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me! Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily! Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me!” Psalm 31:1-2 ESV
What are the thoughts you think about yourself, your value, your image, your light meant to be shared with others?
Are the things people say of you consistent with the things you think and say of yourself?
“You will look to Him for gladness and refreshment when depressed, for moderation and recollection when in good spirits, and you will find that He will never leave you to want.” Francois De La Fenelon (1651-1715), Joy and Strength
Last night, I dreamt of drowning.
I heard myself catching my breath as I came up from the deep, a frantic exhale. I found my soft heavy blanket. I let it rest over my torso and I processed the possibility that I’ve been pulled downward again by the unanswered questions of my past, the agony of being unable to piece it all together peacefully.
I’m not able on my own I’m reminded.
“I’m not sleeping lately.” I told my husband. “Did I wake you?” “No.”, he answered.
“Good.” I added, thinking there’s no need to trouble him with the dream of drowning.
Instead, carry on with the new day.
As I fed the cat my eyes went to the calendar and the verse I found fitting for January.
The theme is courage.
I sat with coffee, lit my candle although it was morning and secretly asked God to come and find me again.
Turned to January 21st in my devotional. There again, the verse about courage.
“Be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart, all ye that hope in the Lord.” Psalm 31:24 KJV
I recorded three thoughts and let them lead me to process my worry, my concern over who I am, who I was, who I’m becoming.
I’m not who people think I am. I’m fragile. I’mfaltering. I doubt the promises of Godquite often and I exhaust myself with worrying.
Then, God brought reply.
Same type replies he gave the ancient souls like David and Francois when they found themselves despairing.
You’re not who you were and perhaps rarely who people say you are, but you are fully known and loved.
I am who Jesus says I am.
Three self-reflective questions led to honest self-assessment and the possibility of a different perspective according to Jesus.
Could it be the deepest place of questions can answer the longings you feel are best kept to yourself?
“In mercy you have seen my troubles, and you have cared for me; even during this crisis in my soul I will be radiant with joy, filled with praise for your love and mercy. You have kept me from being conquered by my enemy; you broke open the way to bring me to freedom, into a beautiful, broad place.” Psalms 31:7-8 TPT
Possibly, we’re all one or the other quite often. We sense ourselves falling into questions and despair. We stay there longer than we’d hope. We acknowledge our position.
We’re brave like David.
We ask for help.
Continue and believe.
Take courage, the ceaseless gracious hand of God, take courage.
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 