Day 9 of the 31 days of writing prompts caused me to groan.
Power.
I turned to weakness, my default or maybe not so much my fragility, but the preference not to lead, not to be involved in anything that requires power, assertion or influence of others.
Those days are done.
Afforded me time to take the blinders off, the struggles and strengths of others for way too long buffered what God needed and needs me to see in me.
It’s been long overdue and good.
Power?
Can we call it strength instead?
Then, I remembered my waking thoughts I framed with prayer.
Lord, help me know what those I love need from me.
The answer came eventually.
The strength I’ve been certain of going on a year.
Peace. I need to be peace. Not a peacemaker, interventionist or conflict resolver.
No, simply, I need to be at peace.
To be peace.
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9 KJV
I need to “make peace” in others’ lives by example.
With this comes strength. With this comes a power that enables me to do for those I love or simply encounter.
Surrender is a big requirement, but one that brings ease. Clear vision of your own issues leads to change.
Peace is not getting what I want or want for others. Peace is giving whatever perplexes me continuously to God.
Suppose I post this little graphic on social media today, maybe add one word “please” in front of “pray”.
There may be a flurry of questions, curiosity over what in the world is wrong with Lisa?! (now).
Or maybe others would think…
there she goes again, talking about things she should keep to herself.
Either could be the case.
But, it is encouragement.
Pray.
The tattered book I’m revisiting has no dates beside the entries of my thoughts. There’s a smiley face beside a verse, dog-eared corners from not sure when. There are prayers, quite personal on the pages.
Prayers that have been heard, met with either answer or with growth, changes in me and situations.
Peace in the form of acceptance.
My prayers were heard.
They will be today.
Whether they’re the confident gratitude that thanks God for knowing or
The bewildered surrender that finds me face down and allowing tears. No words, just flow.
Or simply, again.
Thank you for today. I woke up well.
Recently someone likened “thinking about it” to “praying about it”.
Said it’s the same, just semantics.
I can say with certainty it is not. We can not know everything and so our thoughts are incapable of changing our conditions.
I’ll be careful here. I’m not a theologian and I’ve begged God for things I’ve yet to see.
But, oh the things I have been shown. It astounds me all the times I’ve prayed and resisted the urge to take action.
God has sweetly surprised me.
A phone call longed for that pops up, a request for Jesus to put his healing hands on a family, a plea for knowing more clearly than ever His nearness and protection.
Three very recent answered prayers.
A pleading soul is the soul at peace, at peace with its position in this universe.
“I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me. He freed me from all my fears. Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces. In my desperation I prayed, and the Lord listened; he saved me from all my troubles. For the angel of the Lord is a guard; he surrounds and defends all who fear him.” Psalms 34:4-7 NLT
Lord, thank you for changing my understanding of prayer, of bringing me to here, a place to boldly say to others, “my encouragement to you is that you make prayer a priority.” Help me to help others see the powerfully available connection to you, the one who fully knows us.
Lord, keep teaching me to pray. In Jesus Name and because of your great mercy, I say
Tuesdays are early days, good if I wake on my own, no shrill of startling alarm.
I did today. Turned to my husband’s side to see the red lit time after waking with the words.
Pray about everything.
Two minutes shy of alarm, 4:58.
Pray about everything. Be still. Hope endures. Trust and wait. Pray and be patient.
A word comes to mind as I find verses to reference prayer.
Platitudes, do my notes to self, casual recommendations to others feel less like truth and more catchy phrase, a platitude?
Maybe.
“Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.” Philippians 4:6 NLT
Patience is the word prompt today. Who of us is bold enough or certain enough to say,
“be patient”?
Be patient, this season of death, distress and division will be over soon.
Maybe we did last year this time, but now it feels/sounds like an empty platitude.
So, here’s an idea. Keep praying. Keep being patient.
Maybe it’s with your husband who says soon we’ll redo the bathroom. Maybe it’s with the person in the little old truck either worked all night or just in no hurry and you can’t safely pass.
Be patient.
Repotted your orchid and you see green on the branches after all this time? Be patient.
Patience is a practice. Prayer too.
Pray now, something tiny.
Wait.
Watch your patience grow
and change from a shallow teeny hope, even crazy thing to something better.
Evidence only you will feel and know.
Be patient. Be small. See your world this way and pray.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.” Psalms 23:1 NLT
I have everything I need. (Psalm 23)
I let my granddaughter run a distance ahead of me when we walk. There’s freedom in her feet, there is an overabundance of curious independence in her thoughts.
Taking care to watch her and yet, letting her be, letting her grow.
Letting her become full grown.
Watching her thrive.
My daughter has a plant called either “snake” or “mother in law’s tongue”. She asked my wise aunt, how to keep it alive.
My aunt quickly replied,
“Get up every day and tell it good morning and walk away.”
I suppose whatever it needs to thrive is somehow either inside its stiff leaves, woven together roots, or maybe it’s in the air around it. Maybe it is the home.
A parable in Ezekial, a rarely read book in my Bible was happened upon this morning. The clean page had a faint underlined place,
“Will it thrive?” Ezekiel 17:9
The parable was written to compare the ways of two leaders, a warning about the king of Babylon coming to Jerusalem and the importance of honoring The Lord’s covenant. History often confounds me. Still, the three words “will it thrive” caused me to sit with this passage.
A riddle to be understood, I sat with these several verses on this quiet Friday morning. I read and read again, God’s Spirit assuring me there’s a truth for you here.
Two vines planted from the branch and seed of a twig transported by an eagle.
One grew and spread near the abundant water and rich soil, it grew outward, freely, vines spreading and branches putting out new boughs.
The other wrapped its young roots around the eagle and became dependent upon it for water and its hope to become a noble vine.
Yet, when it needed to be transplanted, free to grow, the roots would be found weak, easy to be blown away, bent by the wind and eventually wither.
I think of my attention to things God has given me to contribute my part in their growth.
Naturally, I think of my children.
A daughter who’s a wife and mommy, a leader in vocation and learning, outspoken and deeply caring.
A son who is Colorado and lives near a park known for its majestic cedars. A son, who subtly agreed when I mentioned another mother saying “every child gets to write their own story”.
“That’s right.” he said.
Fully grown.
They are thriving and becoming even more fully grown.
It’s a wonder to me, because I surely often overwatered, fertilized with unsolicited advice and often looked on too closely to circumvent uprooting of what I felt meant thriving.
So, how does growth happen best?
Not getting too wrapped in the care and nourishment of our thriving, established long ago by our Father.
If growth is intended for us, it will grow when we let it be.
Because of God, my growth and I have all I need.
Like the healthy plant that never gets watered. Whatever is within it has it thriving. Letting it be seems to be the answer.
I journaled in the margin of the smooth thin paper what God hopes I’ll let linger.
Roots that are planted in good places of abundance and then left to spread on their own are more likely to thrive than the roots I cling tightly to, so tightly they wrap themselves around me stunting the intended growth of my calling, art, writing, my contributions to others.
Roots allowed to spread without being overnourished, overthought or overworked are the roots of long living, lasting evidence of hope.
Of love.
Yes, it will thrive.
Let it happen. Let it grow. Contribute as needed, as led by the Creator of you.
Hope will grow and thrive.
Continue and believe.
“He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams. He renews my strength. He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.” Psalms 23:2-3 NLT
Who can you think of past or present who is famous because of their peace, the most indescribably unknown person you know?
“These are treasures no bird of prey can see, no falcon’s eye observe.” Job 28:7 NLT
“Bethesda”
I spoke with an author of three books recently. I sensed the ache in his voice as he told me about his writing after I talked about mine, the children’s book inspired by Matthew 6:26. We agreed to sell a lot of books, you must be famous, have a website with a bookoo of followers and be good at talking about yourself.
Just the conversation between us about self/book promotion was hard.
Before sunrise today, I thought of just how contradictory that seems. I’ve read lots of Christian books, some sort of trendy and insubstantial and some very resonant and worth returning to.
I thought of how we, as far as I interpret the words of Jesus, are not supposed to want to be famous.
When we say
“Make Jesus famous, not me!”
We’re supposed to be able to mean it.
And yet, an agent won’t return an email and a query goes unread because you have less than 5000 Instagram followers.
A few weeks ago, I had a skip in my step, a sense of a really cool possible art opportunity.
Time passed and it faded to “oh,well…”
I’ll reference trauma once here and that’ll be it.
If your needs went unnoticed as a child or young adult and you get well enough to try expression of your needs and talents again and nothing happens…
You decide it’s better to be invisible again.
Because invisible is what you know.
But, now this self-awareness feels less achingly deficient and more like
a better fame.
A realization of what I decided was my “treasure” was not my treasure at all.
Years ago, when I began writing, my heart set on a memoir about the possibility of hope, I was starry-eyed and optimistic and I told myself don’t be a chatty little woman who writes about Jesus.
Be authentic. Be real. Be truthful but not so truthful you hinder another’s hope.
And I thought I’d write a book about it all.
Now, I realize I may not.
Because the truth, my truth I am learning to be okay with is,
I don’t think I want to be famous. I think I’d rather be quiet.
That admission may be the kiss of death to being a published author or it may be the breath of heavenly fresh air to a weary striving soul.
Because writing, painting, being a published author are not my treasures, my peace and my peaceful sharing of my healing are. They are the treasures I hold and occasionally share in hopes of stirring curiosity over the same treasure for others.
I won’t stop writing and I won’t stop painting, often with crayon.
I’m just certain being a person who can be found by name on Amazon as an author or who has art that can be searched for and purchased has given me a taste of fame.
But never has fame made me famous, instead only made me wanting more.
Thirsty for recognition, parched for praise and aching for a dollar sign saying success next to something I made.
Eight years blogging. I suppose it’s fitting to write honestly today.
That feels like a quiet celebration.
Keep writing. It’s good to continue quietly and to believe.
Because healing is not dependent on fame, only on believing, believing like the lame man on the banks of the Bethesda.
“When Jesus saw him lying there, he knew that the man had been crippled for a long time. Jesus said to him, “Do you truly long to be well?” The sick man answered, “Sir, there’s no way I can get healed, for I have no one to lower me into the water when the angel comes. As soon as I try to crawl to the edge of the pool, someone else jumps in ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up! Pick up your sleeping mat and you will walk!” Immediately he stood up—he was healed! So he rolled up his mat and walked again! Now Jesus worked this miracle on the Sabbath.” John 5:6-9 TPT
“He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud and anointed my eyes and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ So I went and washed and received my sight.” John 9:11 ESV
Growing
Two passages have held my interest in August, my writing sparse because of a desperate longing to correctly understand one and to linger in the hope of the other. Plus, my brain’s been a bit fuzzy, like a dull swirling of what next.
Anyone else?
The passage about the man blind from childhood whose parents were interrogated by the Pharisees about the cause and the remedy has captivated me.
“His parents answered, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind.” John 9:20 ESV
The other is the passage that contains the words to “carry your cross” used often in sermons or songs. It always intrigues me. More so now because I believe I’ve been believing it wrongly.
“And whoever does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” Matthew 10:38 ESV
Once I heard a woman sing a song she wrote about her cross. Her voice was strong as she began and then wilted in weepiness towards the end. The lyrics told of her personal battles, her depression. These burdens she told us she had decided were her’s to carry, they were “her cross”.
I caught myself now thinking, “albatross”.
Mercy
I remember how hopeless it left me, her disclosure, and how I pondered the weight I’d be expected to lay across one shoulder for the rest of my life.
I’d be bent permanently by the burden of my traumas.
If my past was my cross I’d be like the aged and decrepit beggar on a back street barely carrying on.
Oh.
The road I often travel passes by the County jail. Men and women are leaving to walk towards town with paperwork in hand or they’re sitting at the exit, heads bent towards their laps, hoping soon their ride will be there.
I pray.
“Change their life for better, God, today.”
Last week, a young man I guessed to be in his late twenties stood on the corner waiting. He was dressed in clothes that didn’t seem to match a night spent in jail. He stood and then paced and I watched in my rear view mirror until watching was no longer possible.
I noticed something different. I sensed his deep contemplation and so I opened my hand to heaven and prayed, “Lord, let today be his turnaround day. Be near him in a new way.”
When Jesus passed the man who’d been blind from birth, the disciples asked him, whose fault is this?
Is he blind as a punishment for his wrongs or is he blind and it’s his parents’ fault?
Jesus told them no, it is because God wants others to see the possibility of hope, of healing.
“Jesus answered, “Neither. It happened to him so that you could watch him experience God’s miracle.” John 9:3 TPT
And I See
Now I see.
“The healed man replied, “I have no idea what kind of man he is. All I know is that I was blind and now I can see for the first time in my life!” John 9:25 TPT
And now I see, the cross I carry is not the cross of my past wrongs or wrongs done towards me. My cross is not a burdensome visible and invisible reminder of what Jesus healed me of and from.
My cross is the very cross Jesus died on, the sacrifice of surrender to His Father’s plan, the hope of eternity for all of us who would say like the blind man.
It was “the man called Jesus”. (John 9:11)
Who said , I can’t comprehend it all, I just know what I experienced and I won’t debate with anyone on how or why or if.
I’ll carry on healed and I’ll carry the cross that made possible my healing, the good shepherd’s brutal cross.
I will follow.
“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:11 ESV
I most likely won’t know what happens in the lives of the prisoners who’ve been set free.
I know hope is possible.
Healing is a moment away for any and everyone. Jesus is still near and miracles are still the evidence and purpose of the cross, the cross waiting for us to carry in exchange for every weighty sin, shame or trauma.
“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” Galatians 5:1 ESV
In the summer months, my husband questions my robe with pajamas.
I tell him I love it, I just like to wear it. I feel pulled together.
Before daylight, I’ve left home, left it hanging with soft pajamas on the hook.
Monday morning morning views are back. The sunrise to the right of me leads me on. I turn to see it developing, the new and glorious day.
The road towards small town has me meeting headlights and remembering a time the lights sparked caution.
Remembering today that’s better, the lights, the road, the earliness of day.
Everything an adjustment bringing acceptance.
This time last year I wrote a book I thought was for children.
It was God’s promise posed in a way of “maybe she’ll get it this way” kind of thing.
I matter to God.
You matter to God no matter what.
You’re seen, known and loved.
When I worked with women trying to decide whether to believe life was worth living and whether they could change life stealing patterns,
I’d say,
“Look in the mirror, look for more than a minute, you’ll be able to see how you’re doing.”
I’m not talking full length that helps you decide if you can walk on the beach without your shorts or whether the pants are too tight from behind, whether the dress fits good or is too matronly.
No, just the bathroom mirror.
Wash your face and gaze. Consider the condition of your soul through the look in your eyes.
You’ll see. You will know.
Look again, again and again.
Check yourself.
Are you wearing your righteousness? Are you dressed in the covenant of peace?
Your eyes will know and they will tell you so.
You’ll see restoration, you’ll be excited to keep seeing it.
Christ in you, the hope of glory.
Become friends with the morning mirror. Carry on. Remember how yesterday was different.
Your faith more certain, your chasing misplaced trust became an acceptance of it.
A robe embraced you, rested on your shoulders and covered your questions,
The robe of righteousness, the blanket of salvation.
Continue and believe.
Be faithful in your belief.
Faithfulness is God’s character and that same character is in you.
“He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” Psalm 23:3 ESV
Barely had I written down the words, instructions to myself for today, when the sound of rain in subtle steady sheets caused me to rise.
I opened the door, left it open and watched the rain fall against the luminous backdrop of day.
The rose petals splattered softly like paint tossed towards a canvas.
Beauty.
I like rain in the morning.
Permission to be slow.
I made a list of “be’s” wondering if it’s just me that can’t get started, can’t accomplish in an orderly manner like before, can’t see things through because of changing direction halfway through or a focus blurred by one thing or another.
Anyone else?
I wondered.
Be still.
Be focused.
Be surrendered.
Be okay.
Be open.
With the last one came a visual. Me, in the car, me in my room, me in prayer, me in pause.
Walking and my hand opens to let God have a hope, a thought, a question.
With regularity, I open always my right hand and I give someone or some thing(s) to God.
Prayers that don’t just happen in church, happen any or everywhere.
“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.” 1 Peter 5:7 NLT
Not until this morning did I think of the act of the surrender from my open hand, a stronger visual of letting it go, giving it to God over and over
Because I grab it again and I keep having to say sorry, I know it’s better with you.
Here you go, God. Please take this, help me to let you keep it this time.
Maybe I’ve turned a corner this morning, I’m thinking.
The “be open” added all of a sudden saying don’t close your fingers in a grip of what’s not yours to handle.
If you do this, how can I lay the very best things in the cup of your hand, the place I designed to gift you like a newborn in a cradle, new things, new joys, new chances,
“By trying to grab fulfillment everywhere, we find it nowhere.” Elisabeth Elliot
Morning Glories
I felt Fall wispy through the bordering trees on Monday morning.
August saying change is coming, change is coming, the kind that causes retrospect in the realization.
Small and sweet, the change.
God’s Hand The Strangest Bloom Early Color
The morning rain on Tuesday made the road a soft and sandy cushion under our feet.
We measured our bare feet and talked about the shape of them.
Walked towards the corner and remembered being brave and careful.
We stood still and saw the sunflower aurora against the blue sky border.
We climbed the little hill, twice the height of the two year old.
I’m thinking now of how careful she was, careful and brave.
I told her she was brave to climb the little hill to touch the flowers.
Told her I was brave too.
Later, I approached the room where I paint.
Brushes left soaking in murky water, a week’s worth of blue paint tinted water spilled as I chastised myself for being undisciplined, unsuccessful, “un” driven.
Cleaned up the mess and sat for a minute to add color to an acceptable but unfinished canvas.
Swirls, shapes, layers became a subtle oyster shell.
I left it, pleased in the satisfaction of enough.
A small thing.
Not a burden.
Rest for my soul.
Considered adding to the waiting in process angelic canvas.
Finish it. Share it, wait for the likes and notice.
No, not today.
Tonight, I chose small.
Gentle with myself.
Brave in small ways.
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 ESV
What are you carrying?
“Even angels must find their wings too heavy sometimes.” Helen Van Slyke
“Praise ‘n Worship” (prints available, comment to purchase)
I’ve missed the part about the shared yoke with Jesus being easy to carry, being light.
“In times like these you need a Savior In times like these you need an anchor Be very sure, be very sure…” In Times Like These
Saul was blind for three days after being confronted by Jesus over why he chose to be such a criminal, intent on being so vicious.
He was found and he saw life differently.
One lamb wanders away, the others stay in the pasture waiting as the shepherd, the master of their wellness and safety leaves them to find the wayward one. The parable is for us, the ones who were lost and still get lost sometimes.
We need our good shepherd. We’re prone to forget.
“Think of it this way: If a man owns a hundred sheep and one lamb wanders away and is lost, won’t he leave the ninety-nine grazing the hillside and thoroughly search for the one lost lamb? Now you should understand that it is never the desire of your heavenly Father that a single one of these little ones should be lost.” Matthew 18:12, 14 TPT
I saw a man walking on Wednesday.
His dark hair combed back from his face, his jaw clean shaven. The sun came up over his shoulder, I hoped it was the one I’d been praying for, the man I’d seen the days before.
This man curled up under the overpass, then later on my route, walking cloaked in black jacket and too big pants, bent down towards the sidewalk along the highway, once I saw him leave the Waffle House, I prayed he’d been well fed.
Seeing him early in the day made me hopeful. I prayed God had made for him a new path.
I’ve been sketching lots of practice sketches for a commission, a bird cradled in a hand was the request. Instead, I keep sketching hands cupping a bird in a nest.
Think of this.
We know God cares for us by looking at the birds as evidence of that love.
Look at the nest built by a mama bird and you’ll see it’s even more elaborate than we can fathom. A bird nest, intricately woven together, little stems and pieces of whatever that the bird creates using a sort of circle pattern as if the cupped hand of God is keeping it safe until it can fly on its own.
I’m humbled and awed by this.
If God, the maker of heaven and earth has equipped a bird to do this, how could I ever question His love and intentional preparing of me, to do things for those around me and for Him?
“Consider the birds—do you think they worry about their existence? They don’t plant or reap or store up food, yet your heavenly Father provides them each with food. Aren’t you much more valuable to your Father than they? So, which one of you by worrying could add anything to your life?” Matthew 6:26-27 TPT
Be very sure. He cares for you.
Like a mama bird with babies, like a kind and gentle shepherd who’d never abandon his lost lamb.
Like a Father who is wise, a friend who is kind. Like a stranger who stops what they’re doing to offer aid.
Be very sure, God cares for you and for lost, lonely or weary people you’ll never know.
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 