Wounded Weepers and Seekers

aging, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, Holy Spirit, obedience, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

I wondered as I refreshed my memory on the prophet Jeremiah, why he’d been marked with the identity of the “weeping prophet”.

“You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”
‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29‬:‭13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

His call was to restore the people he loved to a relationship with God the creator rather than pursuit of other gods and things.

He wasn’t very successful. His success was committed obedience regardless.

Strange Waking Words

Jeremiah asks, “Is there no physician there? Is there no balm in Gilead…why then has the health of my people not been restored?” (Jeremiah 8:18-22)

On Tuesday morning, God woke me with a promise, “there is a balm in Gilead”.

A lingering cough and congestion with no other symptoms caused me to decide I’m getting older and I just don’t bounce back as quickly. Still, it was strange to wake with that very first thought.

Clearly, my heart was in need as well as my body.

Still, strange if it’s difficult to believe what you can’t see…that Jesus lives within us, the Holy Spirit…the comforter.

So, to be told, “Lisa, there is a balm in Gilead.” (just that clearly) was to remind me of the Healer of all my wounds, those already well and those in the process of true wellness.

I had no idea. I understand balm as sort of a salve like Neosporin but no clue about Gilead.

I discovered there’s no verse with this promise, only one that questioned why wasn’t there, why was there no balm?

And old hymn came from this same wondering of someone long ago…

“There Is A Balm In Gilead”

Traditional Spiritual

There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole, there is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
Sometimes I feel discouraged and think my work’s in vain, but then the Holy Spirit revives my soul again.
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole, there is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus and say, “He died for all.”

So, I sketched a wounded and contemplative woman in the margin, the words alongside her…There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.

She’s thoughtful, a wonderer.

That’s a beautiful promise.

Listen

Lord, I was near enough to your heart to hear this the other morning. Draw me nearer, I pray. Help me to be a seeker.

Jeremiah penned the verses adorning well wishing cards at graduation, the ones that proclaim we all have a purpose and I wonder; actually, I believe he questioned his purpose when it didn’t pan out, when it seemed it nor he made a difference in his calling.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭29‬:‭11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

There’s not always a straight path, life circumvents what we hoped would be our future or at least would give us hope.

Jeremiah wondered why there was no healing, no physician, no balm in Gilead and centuries later, someone penned the words to a hymn that promised healing, one that said, there wasn’t a balm then; but, then came Jesus.

And Jesus woke with me the words to that very song.

Strange? Not at all.

A wounded seeker He knew was in need.

Continue and believe.

You are so very loved.

Seen and Seeing, Compassionately

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, confidence, courage, depression, doubt, eating disorder, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, marriage, memoir, Peace, Redemption, self-portrait, traumatriggers, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing
Sort of a Self-Portrait

I had a dream that felt sort of silly. The blip of remembering was simple, I looked in the mirror and saw myself having a day of “good hair”.

My hair is super thin and greying. My hair and I have always had an unhappy relationship.

What an odd dream, likely birthed from two conversations.

The first, a fun exchange, the second an honest answer.

I arrived early for my appointment with the doctor. I had my information and privacy forms completed in advance. The receptionist sort of celebrated that and smiled.

“I need an insurance card and her I.D.” she added. I provided both and she said…

“Tell her to have a seat and we’ll call in a few minutes.” One last question,

“Does she have an emergency contact, is it you?”

I answered yes and sat back down.

In a minute or two, I went back to the counter and in a sort of hushed tone I said…

“I’m Lisa.” And she was clearly puzzled.

I added quietly still, “You said “she” and “her” and I’m just curious why…is this a new protocol?”

And then to my surprise, she raised her eyebrows and mouthed an “Oh”.

She didn’t think I was the patient, she did not think I was 63 years old.

We both smiled and continued to chat about age and wrinkles and I told her so excitedly, she had “made my day”.

To know that I had been seen in a different way was the sweetest thing.

The kindest conversation.

Not like one that questions your age in a flattering way; no, one with sincere surprise that I was the patient, not the companion to an elderly parent.

“Lisa” they called and I was escorted to the scales. I slipped my shoes off, had to step off and on twice, the nurse said the scales were “being difficult”.

Mismatch Socks

I acknowledged the seemingly unchangeable number was the same at home and casually said, “Good to know.”

And I had my check-up, scheduled another and went on with my day.

I bought a new bathing suit, one size smaller but seemed it may fit, lined in lavender and covered with painterly abstract flowers.

It was a bargain, really pretty.

Bought groceries, caught up with a friend and her husband who are grandparents to their second, a two-week old.

Then home to cook supper.

Decided to ask my husband a question, a sort of curiously brave wondering.

Not sure why, he’s super late to the game and needed a little education, but he decided to create a Facebook profile.

Now, he’s all in.

I warned him, it’ll draw you in. It seems he’s reviewed as far back as a few years ago, all of my posts, all of my content.

No worries, he’s often read this blog and he knows I can be a little deep, sometimes pitiful and I hope, always honest.

He mentioned a particular post of him recording a little song for one of our granddaughters on her little karaoke toy.

It was sweet. It was a few years ago.

Knowing he was familiar with my Facebook presence, I asked

“I post a lot about my faith, my struggles, my hopes, my learning to trust…The things I post are mostly about faith.

When you read those things, do you say to yourself, they don’t know the real Lisa, or she’s not really that way?”

Brave, right?

He answered, “No, not at all. It’s good that you’re that way. It’s good.”

Grace, right?

Just last night, I complained about something trivial and apologized for being “hateful” right away.

And last week, I came clean about my in general self-centeredness. The me that had become miserable and often, mean.

I’m learning to catch it quickly, see it for what it is, the enemy trying to taint the essence of me so that my light is too dim for others to see,

my story fading back to grim rather than walking towards the brilliance of light and living water worth sharing.

Healing from old mindsets is not a snap of the finger,

(I hope you know that)

It is a choice to choose the work of being a participant in healing, not a parader of our trauma as a reason to be hopeless or an excuse to be hateful, the darker side of you enveloping you.

A meal, a sort of gesture

When I bought groceries on the day my age was mistaken, I had in mind a gesture.

I cooked a meal for my daughter’s family, the meal (one of them) my mama was famous for.

My grandson and I sampled it.

It was lovely.

It was a small thing.

It came from that reservoir of grace God placed in my soul, the bubbling brook of mercy I don’t deserve, and the meandering path of my beautiful inheritance through salvation that I sometimes veer from because I get caught up in the before of me rather than the moment, the day.

And I find myself by the slightest ugly little pull, questioning the details of my life and I focus on what I don’t want to accept, the dark days of me and I’m prone to plop down in that dark dank place of not remembering good, only horrific

until I pray and count the gifts of today.

And I walk in the light, the place where my story, the lightness of it may give a little light to others on my way. And I notice and cherish unexpected light that came my way.

I felt old, a stranger blessed my day.

I felt hopelessly overweight, I was met by my own acceptance and a bathing suit that fit.

I felt ashamed of my self-centeredness. I apologized quickly and I cooked a meal with a nine-month old playing “drums” with a spoon at my feet.

All of my life, I have been loved.

I’ve often slipped and come close to falling.

I’ve been kept.

This is my story.

“The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭121‬:‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Continue and believe.

The Lord is your keeper.

August In The Rearview – Retrospect

aging, Art, bravery, calendar, Faith, family, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

WordPress just announced to me that I’ve been writing for TEN years today! Have mercy!

I had a feeling long before August 1st that this year and this month are significant.

As I move into today, the last day of the month of my birthday, I’m reflecting.

I designed two book covers for an author friend. This was an unexpected ask, a gift.

I sought and was accepted for my first collection represented by an art gallery, The Scouted Studio. The Collection

Restoration

I learned a whole lot about how God loves me, always has and how to live a life of “choosing life” over remembering pain.

I learned not to be ashamed that this wisdom is attained in small steps.

I’m bravely talking more about faith and my art in a congruent way.

Since this is my “anniversary as a blogger”, I went into my site and found the most viewed post back then.

No surprise, it’s honest. Even less a surprise, it’s about being a mama.

Click here to read: Back then…

not knowing

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

Changing Days

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.

Talking About Leaves

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.

Around The Bend

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.

“Favorite” Tree

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.

Walking

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.

Wilderness Words

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, family, Holy Spirit, hope, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, revival, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

“Why do you use/love weird words?” one or both of my children.

In some form or fashion, the question often came. And I’d say what was true.

“I love words. If we’ve got ‘em we need to use them.”

I have an old dictionary, 1962 Webster’s. The pages are the color of clay and smelly.

But, I love words. I just do. God woke me with the question again of why I have a pattern of making myself small, why small feels safe. A word came, do I try to “diminish” my worth? Alone and small feels safe. And yet, I am certain there’s only a tiny bit I know of all who might be influenced by my story, by my creative expression.

There’s safety in being diminished. I looked the word up in the old dictionary and it’s just what I thought, “to make less, weaken, impair”.

God led me to Exodus. The people were discontent with the bountiful provision. Most translations say they were “grumbling” and yet, the more appropriate and earlier translated word was “murmuring”.

Dancing Leaves, one of 3

Again, I go to Webster. To murmur is to “utter complaints in a low doleful sound”. And “doleful” is a sound that someone makes when they are sorrowful or in dismay.

The whole congregation of Israel was “grumbling”. In the ESV version, the word is used eight times in Chapter 16.

I’m the KJV, the word is “murmurings”.

“I have heard the murmurings of the children of Israel: speak unto them, saying, At even ye shall eat flesh, and in the morning ye shall be filled with bread; and ye shall know that I am the LORD your God.”
‭‭Exodus‬ ‭16‬:‭12‬ ‭KJV‬‬

Yesterday, I saw faces of grocery store shoppers. I saw a dullness, an apathy, a less than attentive glance to those around them. I saw “doleful” expressions.

Why does one word matter? Murmuring comes from dismay. Grumbling is well just more of a selfish grouchiness.

It matters because of the invitation to know that God sees you, hears your quiet complaint. God is provision. Your woeful or questioning wilderness is being noticed.

And just as the Lord told the Israelites even in their hopeless state…I cared for you. He is caring for me.

For you.

For the generations that are here and to come because of you.

“And Moses said, This is the thing which the LORD commandeth, Fill an omer of it to be kept for your generations; that they may see the bread wherewith I have fed you in the wilderness, when I brought you forth from the land of Egypt.”
‭‭Exodus‬ ‭16‬:‭32‬ ‭KJV‬‬

The Things I Think

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Holy Spirit, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

With a tiny bit of trepidation and the need to refresh my memory, I’ve just searched to find a short devotion I submitted for publication that was rejected.

I often am met with puzzled expressions or worse, a squinty eyed and wrinkled forehead over the things I say, the things I think.

I responded to a poll by an author who is studying brain science, how the science of the brain is effected by relational trauma.

I typed…

“I’d love to know if memories of trauma can ever completely go away?”

Once, in a conversation with a clinician friend who is an expert in all things amygdala related, I proposed

One day, what if one day, scientists discover how to surgically remove traumatic memories from the brain?

My friend looked at me, knowing I was serious and it seemed, she was deeply moved by such an imaginative hope.

I realize I’m sometimes too much for some people.

I reread my submitted devotion, maybe too heavy or even “far fetched” over the possibility that Jesus might have a mind like mine. Or maybe, the tone was wrong, less than perfect grammar or perhaps, it was not a fit for a book of 40 days to a stronger, more courageous mind I suppose.

Rejection doesn’t bother me as much as before. I love writing. I’m owning my voice, honesty and all.

So here’s what I wrote:

A Mind Like Mine, Is it Possible?

Lisa Anne Tindal

Key Verse: “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV

Countless days I have felt the unwelcome weight on my chest, the creeping up of vice-like unrest brought on by my thoughts.The recurring nuisance of anxiety for no reason that feels like entrapment.

I pause and question the cause. I say private prayers, take long walks and do something creative with my hands. I clean. I rearrange shelves or entire rooms. I do some stretches. I put my legs against the wall and my hands on my chest.

I remind myself of the most important, although not instantaneous response.

I remind myself that my loving Father would never desire or cause me to feel this way. I recall the promise in II Timothy, written by Paul, a prisoner awaiting execution. I say to myself, “This feeling is not from God.”.

“…for God gave us not a spirit of fear but of power and love and self-control.”  II Timothy 1:7 ESV

I also remind myself of Paul’s words that assert we are able to understand our Father God because we have the mind of Christ. Our minds are changed, comforted, informed by the Holy Spirit in us when we accept Jesus as our Savior. 

“For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” ‘ But we have the mind of Christ.” I Corinthians 2:16 ESV

The thought of having the mind of Christ captivates me and stirs curiosity over the characteristics that would define such a mind.

So, I created a poll on Instagram, added a little note saying “doin’ some research”. I asked my followers to give me a word to describe the mind of Jesus. There was nary an answer, lots of hearts and likes, but no participation in the poll.

Could it be the question was beyond actually believing that our minds could be “Jesus-like”?

Just last week, questions over a decision prompted questions of God.

“Why the resistance to your call on my life?” 

“Have I ever felt that I knew your will without question, or have I spent my whole life making iffy choices that you’ve redeemed?” 

“What is your will for me God?” I opened my Bible to search for a verse in Micah. Instead, my eyes met a sketch I’d created on the pages of Joshua.

A woman with a posture of listening and my handwriting reminding, “Incline your heart to the Lord.” ( Joshua 24:23 ESV) and boldly circled verses with the words,sincerity, faithfulness.

Sincerity and faithfulness,

I would insert in the IG poll because I have known my Savior to be sincere in His faithfulness to me.

I wonder how my fear, anxiety and resistance might fade if I dared to believe that because I have the mind of Christ, with humble grace I could say in time, “His mind is like mine.”

What a beautiful thought worth embracing.

I can be sincere, and I can choose faithfulness. My mind can be without torment.

My mind can be changed by my heart’s position. My mind can be gently faithful and with sincerity, become more content, less shaken.

Confidently, “more me”.

A Prayer: 

Lord, you understand our minds unrelentingly. You lead us to be questioners in your Will. You answer. You calm. You strengthen our minds. You help us see ourselves from your perspective. You help our minds to connect with our hearts and to be still, to know what is good, acceptable and perfect according to you.Incline us to your heart, Lord. We will trust that our minds will follow.

I’m not sure I’m a devotion writer. I’m not sure about writing at all. I’m only sure that as I write, as I grow.

I’m less bothered by this “enigmatic” mind of mine.

Continue and believe.

With sincerity and faithfulness, you are deeply loved.

As am I.

Where I Am

Art, birthday, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, jubilee, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

I wonder if it’s a common feeling, the juxtaposition of two pursuits when you become a certain age…

A collector and cherisher of “small things” or an avid “go-after-er” of “limitless”, of all the longings of your heart you’d thought might not be for you, possibilities.

Maybe it’s both in a gentle and knowing of yourself as your Maker made you.

I bought myself two gifts yesterday on my 63rd birthday, a pear shaped candle and a bangle the rich color of jade, the same shade in the “Restoration” collection now available.

There was nothing I needed, I said with ease.

I just wanted those two things.

I came home to birthday cards and there were flower deliveries on the porch that were surprises and only found because my daughter asked “Is there something for you on the porch?”

And there sat two of the most boldly happy arrangements you can imagine, the colors complements of each other.

My son, my daughter ordered flowers, neither knowing the other hoped to brighten my day, yellow roses, lilies and sunflowers.

Patient, on my porch while I piddled around my solitary home, added touches to a canvas I’ll soon take away because they’re too contrived, too hard, not gentle; curled up with an actual book under my quilt and then moved with small and slow steps for the arrival of my daughter and her family.

For birthday swimming.

Dinner and cheesecake with cherries on top.

Later, I sat and lit the candle, knowing it wouldn’t be the same, the waxy drips changing the shape no longer to pear but possibly just a blob.

No telling.

My sister called, the last of my siblings to wish me a Happy Day and we talked past my husband going to bed.

About life, about children, about books, about hope.

About knowing we can never know how our lives or the lives of our children will unfold.

But we can know that to teach them not to expect to always know, only to confidently and gently continue on.

And we can live from that knowing for ourselves and we can carry on, enlightened by life in all the ways hard and soft.

So that we can be our truest selves…mamas, sisters, wives, friends, grandmothers, aunts and whatever our hope without limits leaves on our doorsteps.

We can be where we are because of all we’ve come from and all we now know.

We can love small things and we can believe in the limitless beauty of brave pursuits too.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

Distance and Love

Abuse Survivor, Art, birthday, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, family, Forgiveness, Holy Spirit, jubilee, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder

I saw the man again on Monday but, yesterday I wasn’t paying attention. I neglected to glance over to find the front yard of the trailer hidden in a shady hollow place.

Overgrown it was the day I saw the pair standing so far apart they would need to raise their voices.

The grass was high like wheat and a man with a flock of blonde hair all crazy stood with his hands crossed and a positioning of his torso saying “I ain’t staying much longer.”

Facing him was another man, his head tilted to one side in a way that said sincerity.

I wondered about the relationship.

Father, step-father, mama’s friend, uncle or older brother.

I wondered who had caused the crack in relationship and who was resisting more the reconciliation of it.

I also wonder why I wonder. Why I see humans in conditions that are fragile and why God made me to want those conditions to be better.

I know God made me this way and somehow I know the intervening is not for me to accomplish, only God.

So, I pray for strangers. I just do.

And I think about them. I still pause to consider.

“What’s their story?”

I woke with thoughts about love this morning, about the importance of “for my part” demonstrating love.

Love that doesn’t put us in danger of emotional harm is just a positioning of our hearts and mind, we can stay safe in showing love when it’s hard by just deciding we want restoration for someone, we want them to know they are loved by their Creator and if they’ll allow it, by others too.

“Relationship, especially family, requires a commitment to relationship despite differences, dysfunction, and most importantly delays in the other person longing in the same way for relationship.”

I laid still in the place of very good and needed rest and questioned why these words came.

I figured it must be that I’m still curious about the family in the overgrown yard.

I saw the older man a second time. Tall and skinny, a bearded man with baggy britches and an oddly colored pipe dangling from his mouth.

He was swaying in a rhythm with a weed eater as he cleared and cleaned the high grass and weeds.

He was making the situation better.

There was contentment in his movements.

Maybe in the knowledge that he tried and is trying. So, I’ll drive past the place of these two people again next week and I’ll believe the best is being done to restore what’s been neglected or wronged.

And I’ll believe more strongly in the truth of love being demonstrated in small ways to invite change (even if we don’t get to see it).

Because, it’s not about us anyway, it’s about the one who’s messed up and in need of love believing it may be possible…

Restoration.

“God is a restorative God. He is restoring all losses.” John Eldredge, author of “Get Your Life Back”

Continue and believe.

“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.”
‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭4‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I discovered yesterday that 2023 marks a “Jubilee” year for me as I approach my birthday. It’s surprisingly tender, this discovery…almost too difficult to put into words. Maybe I will, maybe I’ll just rest in the discovery of a year symbolic of release and restoration.

There are no coincidences with God.

August, Happy You’re Here

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Restoration”

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

Our colors are changing, no longer hidden.

We’re vibrant.

“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

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

Next year’s calendar?

I’m thinking “transformation” as its theme.

Butterflies as art.

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

Thanks for being here with me.