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
Before bed, I read a verse about being cared for. I read that the shepherd takes care of his sheep overnight. Sheep don’t have to worry about being fed, of waking rested and ready.
I woke too early on an “off” and open day. The moment I sat with coffee, a thought came.
I’ll share it here as the “good thing” today.
Morning Thoughts
“What are you building and why when I’ve already established your dwelling place?”
I wrote underneath 10/26/23 and my children’s names in a thick circle, is this question.
I pause to consider why, I question the significance of “dwelling” and I imagine eye rolls and even laughter over the “depth of me”.
The more I thought of this question God gave me, I compared this world we live in, these lives we lead of striving and comparing ourselves just to stay “caught up”.
We don’t have to build ourselves up.
We may topple under the weight of the hurried addition to our first or second floor. We neglect the foundation and we envision mansions that represent our lives, when we’d be better as a quaint little three bedroom with a porch.
After all the building for appearance and to comfort ourselves in being enough, we just might find we don’t want to live here anymore, it’s just too much.
And that’s good
That’s a kindness of God to be shown that you are enough, more than and that although you feel worn thin and the structure of the dwelling of you is feeble and tired, there’s still a little corner that’s waiting for you to find yourself acknowledging the exhaustion.
You matter.
The condition of your body and soul, the place where God dwells even when we can’t find Him in the clutter.
Surprisingly, that’s a sweet place, the most beautiful place you’ve known all along.
Maybe, its name is acceptance.
I think so.
God gave me this today. He wants us both to know. We are enough in our dwelling with Him, we don’t have to wear ourselves out in building, renovating or leveling ourselves in destructive manners because we don’t think our “dwelling” measures up.
God has more than we can fathom in the place of us He long ago established.
“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” Isaiah 45:3 NIV
A sentence in my post about “Listening” that was all jumbled up sounding like wisdom but really only just a pretty forming of a sentence.
I answered her.
After rereading the blog post over again.
I’m not sure what I meant…
some sort of metaphor about editing a painting and redeeming the mess(es) you make because you rushed ahead or you were led to doubt because of comparison.
Maybe redemption over our mistakes as well as our challenges comes when we are brave in our approach to life in general.
Acknowledgement of God
When I scurry out to my daughter’s porch to see the morning, I say “Let’s tell God, Good Morning!”
The grandchildren listen, go along, unbeknownst to them, a seed (even if silly in memory) will pop up for them on occasion, maybe as adults, maybe today.
Today, I woke up and thought of bravery, a good thing.
This old dictionary I like says bravery is “the quality of being brave; fearlessness…magnificence.”
Magnificence seemed odd.
I flipped to the “M’s” to see that magnificence is another word for splendor.
Bravery, less than and at the same time so much more than a jaw-clenching choice, a splendid way of living, an opportunity to really believe this life you’re living,
have been given is splendid.
Bravery is accepting slow progress as better than rushing an outcome based on others around you. To be brave is to decide the acknowledgement you need comes every morning when you open your eyes to find the morning.
Bravery is knowing yourself, body and soul, good and not so great and choosing what helps you maintain it over what threatens to wear it down.
Saying no to that second glass of red wine, so pretty in the settling down evening place, end of the day.
Bravery is not having the chocolate pudding topped with salty pecans in your daughter’s pantry…adding crumbled cookies atop a peak of whipped cream.
Bravery is knowing that this innocent indulgence felt like rebellion and subtle self-destruction and that it may not feel the same for others; but, for you it was something other than a treat.
Bravery is attentiveness to the nudge from God’s Spirit inside you that says
“You’re getting too close to the edge, be careful, be still…don’t go on without me.”
Bravery is conversations with others in which you speak your peace and truth, not turn your cheek, close your mouth with just a timid nod, “It’s okay.”
Bravery is delaying good for better.
Bravery is expressing a tender observation to someone you love, knowing they need to hear it. Most often, I’m learning, this is to the adults I cherish, my children.
Bravery is saying,
“I love you.”
And bravery is believing in God, the Creator who chose to give up His Son, Jesus so that we’d spend eternity in what Eden was supposed to be.
Bravery is asking yourself (and others if you have opportunity)
Why are you afraid to believe?
“God always makes his grace visible in Christ, who includes us as partners of his endless triumph. Through our yielded lives he spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of God everywhere we go.” 2 Corinthians 2:14 TPT
Bravery is telling your redemption story, often rambling and more often grammatically errant.
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.
I saw the copper color on the carpet and thought, “penny on heads, yay!”
Instead, it was a piece of cereal, a circle shaped flake.
When I read the parable of the lost coin, I can see myself as the widow. She’s searching every corner, maybe like me had to find her glasses or maybe she resorted to rubbing her hand along the floors, the corners, the spaces where the coin may have landed.
“Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it? And when she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.’ Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Luke 15:8-10 ESV
I’ve lost many things. I’m sad because a pair of earrings disappeared (twice, one time I found them) and I can’t find the one charm for my bracelet. It’s long lost.
More than those treasures though is the mystery that many events and interactions in my life, I have no recall.
No memory.
Someone told me after all these years, willing myself to remember, sitting in silence trying to recalibrate my brain,
That complex PTSD often results in memory loss. A chronology of hurt has this result.
Now, you may think this is heavy, sad, upsetting, even depressing.
No, it’s a gift, a joy to know that life is an invitation to simply cling to the joyful and to make more joy, if you can.
So, what is joy?
What is found treasure?
It’s found in listening.
Acceptance of every tiny moment.
It’s found in observing. It’s the evidence that who you are now is so much more important than who you were or what hard things happened to steal chunks of remembering.
The widow in the parable rejoiced.
Was it because she was poor?
Was it because she simply celebrated her not giving up her search?
Or even more, because she realized the essence of the truth of Jesus.
She mattered.
She was not one who’d ever be given up on.
Nor am I.
Nor are you.
I know the parable is about Jesus caring about every single lost soul.
To me it’s about joy.
About never giving up on being found by it and by it finding you.
I’m 63 years old with a timeline of trauma. But, not until today did someone say to me, the memory loss is because of what happened to you, it’s really just brain chemistry, neuroscience.
And the truth of that felt like a coin I’d been crawling around on my knees, scouring the floor to see
For a very long time.
Trying to squeeze the memories from the layers of my brain and all for naught.
Except the realization of the present and the chance to add to memories.
God is so good to me.
I surely don’t deserve it.
There are countless things I’ve agonized over not being able to remember.
I’ll never find those memories.
Maybe, though I can feel deeply the way those crises and celebrations made me feel and I can honor those times and myself by feeling all the feelings now.
It’s helps that it’s catchy, the wise words for remembering.
Listen, Lisa
Works I Love
I stepped lightly to assess where I may have gone wrong, rushed to edit, didn’t leave “well enough for now and maybe always” alone.
Now, I see.
I should’ve listened to that pull, the voice that said.
This is you.
This is good. Let it rest. Let it be.
There’s no need for a rush to redo. There is no expectation for anything other than that you listened.
Listened attentively.
Listened with no plan of action or scheme.
Listened for the opening that never comes like a bursting, more like an invitation.
Listen and learn.
Contribute to the redemption of where your listen wasn’t necessary at all or steered you wrong.
Remembering, you can’t hear the gentle tone of directions spoken if you’re thinking you got it on your own.
Listen and then, welcome your role in the redemption that made a mess and muddied your message.
Always a good one, led by patience and surrender.
“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” Isaiah 64:4 ESV
There wasn’t time for a deeper conversation. There wasn’t the space nor would the talk about the state of my heart, my mind have been able to find space in all the other chatter.
Someone I love and who loves me and is wise, told me later on the phone…
“You looked so tired that day.”
And I did my best to decide whether to say that I was in fact tired, to share with her all the reasons of how I had just been pushing through
or to wait and see if her observation may have invited
a more beautiful conversation.
If she might have time to listen, if I might be brave to clarify. If she might be courageous enough to share her own heart.
Being honest is risky.
I try to recall that day. Was I exhausted or was I just me at 63?
Likely a combination.
But, wouldn’t it be beneficial in a loving way, I thought if she’d have said,
“How’s your soul, what’s on your mind, what’s causing you to feel unwell, what’s brewing underneath that’s about to boil over and you’re trying to keep it under wraps?”
“What’s the thing under the thing”
Then, I would have sensed an offer of hope.
This morning, before I threw off the covers, responded blurry eyed to a ding on my phone, I thought of this longing…to be seen,
to have a sweet conversation about why she thought I “looked so tired”.
I thought of Martha.
I thought of what Jesus told her and how women especially, decide even if in secret, “Mary was his favorite.”
And we know that Jesus was simple telling her to see her sister’s choice to rest as a better choice and still, I wonder…
Could he have elaborated, could he have spoken with more clarity and could Martha have used different language?
“And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” Luke 10:40 ESV
Could Martha have been more vulnerable?
Could she have simply asked the question that prompted warm tears on my cheeks today?
“Jesus, do you see me?”
We likely don’t know the entire conversation, Jesus beckoning her from the kitchen to sit beside her sister.
What if what he meant was simply…you seem so tired, I know your gifts are serving, working, preparing and fixing…
So, come and rest with your sister and I and if you’d like to tell me more I’ll listen.
Many beautiful conversations have been had with the one who pointed out what she saw as my exhaustion.
I know she sees and saw me.
We’ll talk about it soon.
So, today’s good thing?
Being seen.
Who can I truly see today and in an honest exchange allow them to truly see me and then in a conversation that offers hope.
My talents as a cook are hit or miss. I’m not a follower of recipes and so, sometimes what I think might be a good combination is actually not.
My husband will comment, “That was good, can you remember how you made it?”
I smile to myself, knowing only a few dishes are close to guaranteed goodness.
Spaghetti is one, quiche another.
Spinach and Sausage Quiche
Warm and cheesy.
Delicious before I begin today’s list of promised art things, some a tiny bit anxiety causing.
You can do hard things, Lisa.
It’s gonna be alright. You just enjoyed breakfast with extra cheesy creamy goodness and allowed yourself the nutrition, the comfort. You’re not consumed by your consumption.
You’re gonna be alright.
In quietness and confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15 NLT
(Today is processing calendar orders day. You can visit my website and click on the “Smaller Things” page to order one or a few and their on sale through October.)
On Monday, baby Henry was a tiny bit heartbreaking. He’s getting new teeth. He wanted me, wanted to be held.
Our morning walk required holding.
Today, he bounced his little feet and nodded his head. He was very happy in the stroller.
The news broke through regular shows because the President was about to speak in Israel.
I didn’t want Henry to hear it, sense it, see it.
I turned the television off.
Baby settled, we took off strolling.
And he was so very content, I began to filter recent conversations, a wide and varied assortment.
A strange thought came, I embraced it, a question…
If I were to talk as in TedTalk fashion, what could I contribute?
I made a mental list. You should too.
I could talk about:
How to supervise employees with helpful attention and kindness
How not to because you work best alone
How to forgive those who harmed you even though forgetting the wrong is not possible
How to recover from disordered eating and why the recovery is a constant decision not to seek comfort or self-destruction through food. Why it’s complex and invites patience with oneself
Why it’s important to be brave in your conversations with your children, adults or babies or teenagers. Why it’s good to be silent, allow them to throw their words like darts towards you as you sit still,
bravely listening, receiving.
How to look in the mirror, full on when suddenly your eyes are tiny and your body is dramatically shifting
Why rest is golden, why it’s okay to lie down in the middle of the day, why it’s peace
What children have taught me about prayer, always thank you’s, never give me now and hurry
Why I believe in Jesus and how I wonder why others are afraid to just believe.
How I know God is acquainted with every facet of me and the true occurrences that surprised me to say “See, I see.”
How to be brave.
How childhood poverty always makes you feel like you’re dressed in old dresses or too tight pants, inappropriate shoes
I’ve spoken in public on occasion. Honestly, without notes…only my heart for the cause for which I spoke.
It would seem I might be able to speak for and of myself.
Instead, I choose writing and I pray writing keeps choosing me.
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 