Welcome, Winter

aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, Faith, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

“The world is so scary…how can I know?” (Words written and shared with a grandchild)

Out walking before the chill that comes with sundown, I thought about writing.

I thought of the binder, fat with printed words, tucked in the space between my desk and my dresser.

I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to not see it, the evidence of an optimistic attempt to secure interest in my book idea, the one with the title I’ve coddled and kept for so many years.

There were “No’s” and there were “no replies at all”.

I remembered a phrase I’d embraced to guide the writing of essays of sorts, one I felt represented my honesty and a clear voice, my voice in the telling of the stories.

“Start with hope and end with hope.”

This seemed like a good mindset to write honestly about hard things and to let the middle be expressed clearly and the ending, leave the reader with hope.

That middle part is what I thought about on my walk today. That stymied status when nothing seems to be changing for better and you’re sinking down in sand that’s quick sort of lulled by the angst of “how long must I be here?” Will I keep sinking into “stuckness” or will I reach for something to grab and pull myself back up.

To carry on?

I have 3 book ideas, two for children and one a collection of essays expressing the evidence of redemption’s work.

Out of the blue the other day, my six year old granddaughter asked,

“Grandma, are you still gonna write that book you told me about?”

I thought to say “No, don’t think so.” and then I realized her question was a supernatural nudge, she was the voice of God in a gentle and unforgettable way.

The memoir type book that got all the rejections? I’m wondering if maybe I took the path of least resistance, attempted to write what might be more popular, more trendy in a way.

In doing so, I might’ve abandoned the soul of my stories.

Here we are a few days from a brand new year. I’m leaning in and taking account of how my artwork has changed, how I have grown professionally and personally. I am aware that I, and my art have begun to be noticed by people other than friends and family.

I wrote about how this is moving me forward just last week. I sense the clear desire to become even more me, which may be a voice that is more sure and less a goal of captivating followers. I feel very sure of this and I’ll keep reminding myself.

But, the writing, the longing that won’t just fade…

I think I’m going to need to understand the reality of the business of writing.

I need to be noticed and so, I need to be more noticeable.

I need to accept life is not a fairy tale in which I have stories that I love to string together and that will be enough.

(I don’t know why this is such a strong belief for me…that if I do my part, the other part will just come.)

I’m sure there’s a reason in the depths of me and likely has much to do with childhood and trauma. I’ll let my counselor help me unlearn this “fairytale” way of expectations.

As I walked this evening, I realized change comes only when I go looking for ways I may need to change.

Most writers know the power of a strong redemptive arc. A story begins and it builds in an exciting, dreadful or anticipated tragedy sort of way. The details show the evidence of the events that one might find themselves in.

We might walk the reader through a dark swampy forest with brush and bramble tangling and threatening injury…afraid and unable to see their feet.

We may escort the reader up a hillside and unsure what’s ahead or how we’ll catch our breath because of not knowing what’s next.

We might bring the reader with us to the place with no light, no noise, no friends, only foes and we might bring out a tenderness in them they hadn’t felt before.

I’m typing this in my Notes app, and it may not make a lick of sense to anyone at all.

But, it sure makes sense to me.

So, here we go, pressing on to tomorrow and to a new year as a way to proclaim another beginning yet again.

And I will keep this rambling that came from my day before Winter walk and I’ll remember with all my heart, my words to a friend just yesterday.

Winter comes to let what needs to fade, fade away so that the new in you can be fully new.

Writing, painting, leaning in and pressing, ever pressing toward the story on the back curve of the arc that’s known redemption.

And just longs to share it.

That’s all, the longing that won’t let itself be discarded.

Advent and Art

Advent, Christmas, courage, Faith, hope, patience, Redemption, Trust, waiting

We wait with hope.

I sat and doodled an idea, divided my journal page into four squares then sketched a figure with subtle wings in each. I added the four words, four mindsets to grasp as Christmas Day gets closer: hope, peace, joy, love.

I decided not to create new artwork but to find photos of old paintings. I was reminded I’ve been painting female figures, sometimes angelic for quite some time.

Women in contemplation, often perceived as “sad”. It reminds me that I’m sometimes seen that way and I typically answer,

“No, I’m just thinking.”

Thinking more than speaking, thinking of so many inexpressible hopes, dreams and often, fears.

I remembered this morning that hope deferred breaks a heart. Hope decided not to put more hope in only leaves us looking to fill a void. But, a dream pursued, held onto like a jewel leads to a beautiful song.

Like faith, hope is a mystery, a beautiful and invisible thing that holds more value than anything we can know, achieve or experience.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭11‬:‭1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Held

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

The empty lot on the street lined with homes is the home for the leaning tree.

The branches are thick and twisted, gnarly but producing papery leaves on wiry branches.

Long before the homes took up space here, the road was hard and dusty, clay.

My children were small and we walked like explorers down the road. Once or twice, the hills were covered in snow and they slid and fell and ran around in thick socks tucked down in tennis shoes, makeshift boots for children of the South.

I walked past this tree yesterday. The subdivision neighbors all know me I suppose, that woman who looks at the clouds, the one who walks very fast, the one not inclined to stop and chat.

I noticed the tree the day after I’d read about God’s response to Adam and his wife Eve.

I read of how God responded by making them clothing from animal skins to replace the covering they’d contrived in shame that was made of scratchy leaves.

I spent some time reminding myself of the interactions, of the course of Eve and Adam’s recognition of mistake and of their shame.

“And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭2‬-‭6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In the garden, Eve succumbed to the need to know more than she needed to know, to know more than was necessary for thriving.

God had provided everything.

She wasn’t quite sure, I suppose. She wanted to know more and wanted more.

The tone of God’s voice in response is sternly disappointed. The course of life changed not just for them but for everyone.

I wonder if God just wondered, is everything I’ve provided not enough?

They knew quickly that they were changed and with that realization came shame.

“Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths. And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭7‬-‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God responded.

This part of scripture is the one that brought me to tears, the provision of God in their time, although a rebellious time of need.

Sometimes I think we carry the most memorable parts of God’s story and use those passages as guidance while only occasionally remembering the mercy of God.

Maybe not you, sometimes me.

I imagine the remorse of Eve.

I can see her standing there trying to undo her mistake. I envision Adam hearing her out, she just wanted to help them be prepared…

If God gave us all of these things in this environment, surely it’s okay if we “ask for help” in the places we need, all of this is new, we need a way to go forward, the future, the present, the what on earth are we expected to do next?

Surely, it was okay to be as wise as God, she must’ve decided.

God asks “Why?”.

He then unveils the consequences of their questioning of knowing “just enough” and that knowing being enough, being His plan.

Then we learn of Eve being named, a beautifully significant name. And we read of God’s response to the couple covered in fig leaves,

Lovingly responding with provision.

“He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living. And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭11‬, ‭20‬-‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I had been dwelling on this passage for a few days when I paused in front of the ancient tree. I thought how odd it must seem that I find its barrenness so compelling.

This tree with nothing but age and no evidence of fruit still exists to remind me of purpose, of the beauty of acceptance of what lingers and what fades, what can be acknowledged as contributing to decline, what might cause shame in light of decisions made and how despite of and because of every bit, still I’m met with grace.

And I’m clothed with God’s love, a softly wrapped tapestry of all my troubles, my questions, his responses, my weaknesses made stronger in their being unhidden, being discovered although desperately hoping they’d go unexposed.

I am found and responded to.

I’m Eve recognizing “some things are not for me to know” and I’m dressed in a more splendid covering than a hurried and shamefully placed fix.

I’m clothed in a robe of redemption.

It’s layered with old scraps of mistakes and shame threaded together so that I remember, with velvety golden threads of rescue, of help, of redirection.

How has God responded to you?

Remember the times you’ve been found, covered and loved.

Held back up gently when you’ve fallen.

“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭63‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Wonderer

contentment, courage, curiousity, hope, memoir, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, worship, writing

“what are mere mortals that you should think about them, human beings that you should care for them?”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭8‬:‭4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Just as clear as if I was there, my imagination created the communion of two friends in awe.

I might have been sipping creamy coffee beside her. She would have offered food. It might have been a cracker spread with butter. It may have been just a sliver of lemon blueberry cake. Maybe nothing to eat, only coffee on her back porch.

My friend and I restfully watching her friend’s love offering, a surprise stop by to clean her backyard.

My friend is journaling after a bout of illness that wanted to linger, wanted desperately to break her heart and her spirit.

She told me that writing was helping.

“Yes, yes, I know.” I thought.

The wonder of a white rooster, a strange and sacred visitor has nudged me assuringly,

It’s time to write simply for writing’s sake, time to let sightings lead to thought again and to simply let thoughts become words.

Twice on the way to the country, a cup balanced on the steel railing under the overpass has caught my eye. A cup marked “Big Gulp” and almost full of some sort of dark cola.

I wondered how long it might remain a fixture to curious commuters like me. Would the wind or the over time passing of cars knock it over? Perhaps a big rig would cause the bridge to slightly shake and the motion might vibrate the railing.

Who left the cup there?

Were they walking and someone came along and opened the passenger door? Were they holding a sign and what was their story?

These are the directions my thoughts take me.

Strange?

I choose to call them sacred.

Wonder, I believe, is worship’s closest kin.

Pauses to think about the wonder of being open to wondering.

Back to rooster, a white one. I didn’t know white roosters existed.

My friend and her friend were reminiscing about a man who passed away too soon.

The white rooster appeared. They were surprised but, then not at all.

I walked outside one morning last week. I had noticed the unveiling of day, the distant ribbons of pink.

I nudged the dog and we stepped onto the cool damp grass. I pointed my phone in all sorts of angles then just let it rest in my palm as I watched the pink sky shift and fade.

Trying to capture the full measure of this sky, of beauty, of God’s greatness is too impossible for me, I decided.

Me, in pajamas, disheveled and maybe a hint apathetic, a seeker of grandeur, of sovereignty in my vicinity.

Called closer by the pink I’d never fully capture.

Beauty is never an accident.

Wonder never a waste.

God is everywhere. Allow yourself to notice and keep noticing.

Note to self,

Return to wonder influenced writing rather than writing for notice. It may take a minute. Take your time.

Seeing and Being Seen

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

Jesus Saw

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

“I know. I know.” I said.

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

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

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

The longing to be seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After all, God is God and we are not.

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

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

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

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

A thought came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‭‭Luke‬ ‭19‬:‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

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

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

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭9‬:‭22‬ ‭ESV‬‬

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

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

You can purchase a calendar here:

2026 Calendar

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

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

I pray my words and my art offer hope.

Fourth Quarter Thoughts

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

I iflipped the pages of my Bible this morning to find the page that was found to make sense of my 2025 word. I had chosen “polished” but not in the way I now see my choice was for. I had chosen the word because I wanted to do some fine tuning and revisions of me and my brand as an artist (and writer). I was hoping to draw the attention of galleries and collectors who it seemed did not find me worthy or “polished” enough.

What I began to see was that the word polished was never at all about polishing my image or my art. It was about readying me to be kept once polished and ready to be used, shot from the bow in God’s hand like an arrow.

he made me a polished arrow;
in his quiver he hid me away.
Isaiah 49:2

I’ve been a resistant to some things I believe God has been readying me for.

I paused in front of the magazines at Publix yesterday. I still cannot quite believe that in December my story as a Featured Artist will be in the Winter issue of this beautiful magazine. People all over the country, maybe the world will read about how I came back to art because art had been patiently waiting for me.

I told a friend today, “I’m just not very good at being okay with a whole lot of attention.”

I think about the words that will accompany photos of my art in this magazine, “What Women Create” on shelves in December. I understand with quiet confidence that it is not me that is being shared, it is my story of beginning with my Bible a decade ago.
And so, this beginning with my Bible is where I have come back to as my story meant to be told.

I have submitted a book proposal for a devotional called “The Colors of Your Bible” to three publishers/agencies.

One has said “No”, two have been unresponsive. This is the way of this business. Expect rejection but hope for possibility.

I bought a new Bible just like the one that got me started and I’m hoping to share it with others, inviting others to be creative.

For now, I’m just excited that I am saying yes to sharing this practice with you.

Several days ago, out walking with my grandson Henry, I paused to think about the recent attention I’ve gotten because of my art.

I thought of the reality of it all being pretty unbelievable, even uncharacteristic of the life I’ve mostly known.

I thought of my life up to now, my childhood, my trauma, my rescue by God, my life leveling out and I let the tears fall.

These words may be wasted on you; but, just know it is something to be amazed by to see who I am now alongside who I used to be.

A couple of weeks ago, I woke on my couch. I had moved from my bed because of a cough that was annoying. I opened my eyes, pulled my blanket up to my chest and I saw the light on the place I have adorned with art. I saw this place in my home in a new light.

I remembered all the homes I have known. One in particular led to my thoughts. It was a house made of cinder blocks painted pale green. It was a flat and long house with very little yard, it was a house in the fork of a road from town to country.

It was damp. I must’ve been about ten years old. I was very afraid living here. I thought of my now home in light of other homes I have known that felt just so very transient. So uncertain, so not well, not “well off” at all.

I know with certainty that is why God woke me with this different view, the light coming through.

I know it is hard for others to understand why good things might be scary, close to debilitating for me.

I painted a duck today, vibrant and fun and very much adding and taking away of color. A friend said “You can paint anything!” and I answered her, “its just deciding not to give up”.

Are you tentative over success or attention? If so, let me be your reluctant example of believing what seems so very surprising.

God sees as you, and what was seen in the beginning of you has not been forgotten.

If it seems you’ve lived a life mostly hidden; perhaps, you’ve been kept safe, stayed polished until it was the time for your unique use.

I’m not sure where my art and words may go next or whether they’ve gone far enough.

Either way, I have had everything I needed and so much more.

You can visit my website here to see my latest paintings.

Lisa Anne Tindal Art

Come What May

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, love, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

I’ve been looking over at the second trio of orchid blooms. I never expected it, I expected the failure that often comes with my orchids.

I shift the pot the plant is in, turning it away from the window. I wonder if the cold air from the vent is the reason the branch becomes more bent like it’s struggling no matter the pot’s position.

One evening I walked in the heavy humidity. Told myself give thirty minutes to intentional movement and maybe add some motivational listening.

I tried two podcasts. One was way too chipper, the other too chatty.

I decided to walk quietly.

I remembered words I heard earlier, a suggestion for focused prayer with a question.

So, I asked it.

“God, what is this season that I am currently in?”

I’ll tell you, I was barely three steps farther along and the answer came with no haggling or hindrance.

“Acceptance…This season is a season of acceptance for you.”

I walked on and remembered several days ago as I walked around the house, doing nothing and yet thinking about doing everything. “Malaise” comes to mind to describe it labeling myself lazy but what if

I’m just takin’ it easy, letting things rest?

Thoughts of my latest artwork, thoughts of the completed pieces leaning like sacred treasures against the wall in my tiny little “art room”.

I felt the affirmation rise up in my soul, the conviction to continue anyway.

“Come what may.” I told myself and then very quietly carried on with my “grandma day”.

Just a couple of hours later, an email was noticed. The word “beautiful” caused me slow.

“Your work is beautiful.” the sender said, “we’d like to feature you.”

Only a week or so prior, I’d sent a submission to be a featured artist in “What Women Create” a quarterly publication for artists, a stunning magazine with rich colors and pages weighted heavily.

I told only a couple of people and I never expressed my joy, only my surprise.

“Come what may.” I’d told myself earlier, an expression of settledness in what might happen one way or the other.

I walked on that recent evening and thought about acceptance and began to see why God may have spoken this quality as the one I must understand more clearly in this, my season.

I wondered if I accept the disappointments in my life as sort of “Oh sure, it’s always this way” acceptance and I continue on in that way of expectancy.

More comfortable accepting defeat or delay and treating good things that come my way as

A surprise or a fluke?

When I look back over my life, specifically as a writer and an artist and one who shares both, I have to be honest with myself.

I’m joyous over a ribbon that’s labeled “Best in Show”, over words that describe my artwork as “beautiful” and over kind and loving expressions to me about me and my art.

Still, I often don’t truly believe those blessings were chosen for me. I somehow convince myself it was some sort of accident.

Awareness is the first step towards new thinking, acknowledgement is the key to open those doors widely waiting and questioning why I’ve yet to enter in.

This may not make sense to you.

You may be one who is thrilled by the things you worked hard to complete or compete for actually coming true.

Or maybe you do understand and if so, I share these rambling thoughts and this realization for you.

Do you expect struggle?

Do you anticipate things not coming together?

Do you only half-heartedly commit because not “getting in” feels better than being excluded.

Every success begins with a decision and that decision is more than just trying, it is the decision to believe God has good things for you.

Not only are there good things for us; but, God actually planned them in advance (and is patiently waiting for our acceptance?).

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”
‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2‬:‭10‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Why do we “accept the bad with the good” more than we believe that in reverse? Or let my mama’s expression, “It’s all in it, Lisa.” be a bandaid over a hurt instead of a healing balm?

My recent collection of paintings, “Not Yet Seen” have resonated for many, but I almost didn’t paint them. I told myself “I love them but they’re different for me, no one has seen this type work from me, so many other artists already do this, etc.”

(Available here: https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/art )

The woeful voice in my head, “If I release these and none of them sell, I’ll be disappointed again, I’ll need to acknowledge they weren’t as special as I thought.”

But, I painted twelve, not eleven as first planned and now there are just six remaining.

“I’m so happy I followed my heart.” I told the gallery owner. She answered, “Me too.”

Maybe the seesaw of good and bad and the acceptance of both with equal energy amounts to just how well we “follow our hearts”

And that our hearts most importantly of all, be guarded by love, the love of God and acceptance of that love for us above all else.

“So above all, guard the affections of your heart, for they affect all that you are. Pay attention to the welfare of your innermost being, for from there flows the wellspring of life.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭4‬:‭23‬ ‭TPT‬‬

Every morning I sit in the soft chair in the corner embraced by artwork on the wall behind me.

Often, I rise to begin my day, turn and pause and although there is an array of canvas and paper and color, my eyes land on love and I carry that all day.

Accepting more as truth every moment just how immensely God loves me.

Most importantly, accepting that more than any other thing, any doubt, any denial, any thing at all that will likely come my way today and tomorrow to detour me.

I’ll accept the better.

“Come what may.” I shall say

and when good comes I’ll believe it as truth, I will claim and accept the better.

Always hope,

Lisa (Anne)

An Offering

Angels, Art, bravery, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Texas Floods, tragedy, writing

Several days ago, someone purchased a tiny angel painting. This collector was a little girl with a tiny little coin purse. Her mom suggested she choose between two and she looked over decidedly at me saying, “This one.” Her mom smiled and announced to her, “You’ve just begun your very own art collection!”

I’m recalling her precious smile as I pause to see the title of a painting unintentionally changed from “All in All” to “Texas Angel”. The caption included in the email from the printer has now become the name of this painting and I couldn’t be more pleased.

Like many of you, I’ve been moved to tears by the floods in Texas, the images of sweet faces and the devastation. I decided to create an angel, one created with torn paper pieces, layered on colors of earthen green mixed with vibrant tones. I decided to offer this painting in collaboration with The Scouted Studio, an online studio for which I’m grateful to be represented by. We decided to donate 100% of the proceeds to flood relief efforts and support. As a former nonprofit director, I reached out to Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country. All proceeds will be donated to this Foundation.

Here’s how you can be involved in this support.

Visit the link to The Scouted Studio purchase an 11×14 print, signed and numbered by me. The availability of the print is limited to 75 and the time range is 7 (just four days now) The print is priced at just $70.

https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/art/products/texas-angel-print

Thank you joining hands and hearts with Hayley Price White, owner of The Scouted Studio and I in this endeavor to help in some small way. We recognize that this contribution is so very small a response to such enormous physical and emotional need. Still, we know that to do “small things with great love” leads to impacts we will never know.

Thank you for being here.

Lisa (Anne)

P.S. I’m juggling Substack, Squarespace, a second children’s book idea, a book proposal for nonfiction combined with art and hoping to be loyal to those of you here. (Not mention aging, grandmothering and well, life)

I’m grateful for the grace of you still being here.

Words and Art

aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, hope, memoir, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

Happenstance and Heroes

Before I lean more into words than art, I have a couple of important reminders more art.

The Summer Sales, one through The Scouted Studio ends on Sunday (20% off sitewide)

https://thescoutedstudio.com/

and the Summer Sale on my website (30 % off sitewide) ends on June 30th. (Code JUNE30)

https://www.lisaannetindal.me/

I’m transitioning website platforms gradually and will be deleting some smaller artwork. Also, if my website looks a little “wonky” just know changes are in progress.

Now, to the “words part”. I’m working diligently on two writing projects. A prayer for both “Lisa’s writing” things would be great if I cross your mind.

Before I return to finishing an important part in one, I wanna tell you about some words that found me first thing.

Not always, but most mornings I open a small and well work paperback book. It was given to me by my cousin. She has one and remembers her mama having one too.

“Joy & Strength” by Mary Wilder Tileston is a compilation of scripture accompanied with thoughts of ancient women and men. The thoughts are often poetic. They are often hard to follow because of the way writers and writing have changed over time. Brevity wasn’t required back then, I suppose and some of the sentences are more like paragraphs. (Just an observation, not at all relevant to this sharing)

I turned to June 26 and read a verse from the Psalms. The thin pages of the index, separated from the book and tucked inside the fold of today, caught my attention.

One name, Anna R. B. Lindsay. Unlike other names in the index, the only date included is the publication year, 1893.

“Anna”, I thought. “I want to see what a woman named Anna had to say.” I turned the solitary quote, page 47, meant to be read on February 16.

“Let us examine our capacities and gifts, and then put them to the best use we may. As our own view of life is of necessity partial, I do not find that we can do better than to put them absolutely in God’s hand, and look to Him for direction of our life-energy.

God can do great things with our lives, if we but give them to Him in sincerity.

He can make them useful, uplifting, heroic.

God never wastes anything.

God never forgets anything.

God never loses anything.

As long as we live we have work to do. We shall never be too old for it, nor too feeble.

Illness, weakness, fatigue, sorrow …none of these things can excuse us from this work of ours.

That we are alive today is proof positive that God has something for us to do today.”

Anna Robertson Brown Lindsay

Just Anna I’ll call her because, Mannnn!, she feels like a wise and sweet sit down with friend.

You think so too?

If Anna from the 1800’s knew there were things for only her to do, how could we disagree with her that for each of us, the same is true.

What will you believe you can actually do and take the tiniest step that leads you there and strengthens your believing.

You’re not too old. (got that, Lisa?)

You’re not too weak.

You’re not bound by your before.

You’re actually “heroic” simply for doing and believing.

Thanks for being here. I hope you can see, writing and art, art and writing. Both are vital, complementary and comforting.

God says so. Who am I to disagree?

Now go and be heroic today!

In quiet confidence,

Lisa (Anne)

P.S. if you’re one of a few in just a couple of weeks who’ve sent me strong and supportive notes, I sure do love you!

P.P.S. I’m inconsistent here and some of you still read. I’m grateful for you.

Curiosity

Abuse Survivor, aging, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

A beautiful oak ushered me on, a canopy over the country road. I wanted to slow. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before or why it comforted me so.

Curiosity is a cousin to wonder. A call to examine whatever captivates or corners you, an invitation, a leaning in with inquisition.

Even fascination.

What if we could be curious not over only beautiful things, but the bitter things too?

Curious over pain, over unpreparedness for hurt, over horrible things that shouldn’t have happened to us?

What if we accept that understanding may or may not ever come fully?

If we’d consider the possibility that curiosity is the entry into a continuum that initiates and begins a relationship with healing.

We may be the catalysts for our very own, deeply personal healing.

And if we will invite curiosity, we’ll begin a new search, one with maturity.

We may be able to see every perspective, not just our own.

We may be able to see through the eyes of the others involved, how pain of their own unintentionally resulted in ours.

We may, most importantly, stop berating ourselves why and decide,

Okay, now I see sort of why and I believe I’ll move on to “what now?”

And for the unexplainable horrible things?

Perhaps, we could consider embracing them rather than stubbornly and with great force, doing our best to erase them, the unerasable wounds.

Because as we embrace our hurt, we at last find we are worthy of being embraced by ourselves.

Every hard and wonderful thing can become embraceable rather than erased.

I drove on down the pretty morning road to approach the old white weathered house on the curve, the one I love to imagine made new.

The one flanked by a massive tree trunk and all its dying limbs now gray and fading away.

Why one oak thrives and the other got uprooted and thrown to the ground,

No way to know. No way at all.

Only to be curiously aware and to live with deep longing, a longing that is always known even if it lingers long.

“You know what I long for, Lord; you hear my every sigh.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭38‬:‭9‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Embrace all your longings to know. Be curious and thrive.

Care and Hope

aging, Art, confidence, contentment, creativity, curiousity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Who wakes up wondering if the orchid will bloom, if the method used to “prop it up” was helpful or a mistake?

These are the things I think.

These are to me, metaphors of a life of faith. Ridiculous, even to me, I watched the orchid and giddily followed its change.

The blooms protected in the plump pod, every afternoon becoming more robust.

Then the color changed where the stem met the pod. It changed from pristine to a color that looked like an old healing bruise, purple and brown all puddled together.

Ugly.

That’s when I intervened.

I found a thin velvet ribbon used to hold my worn out book together.

I carefully wrapped the ribbon around the wooden stake and I eased it gently, the stem that was leaning. I wrapped the ribbon loosely and fastened it all together.

Then I wondered, was the pressure gonna choke the nutrients that would help it grow?

Had I done too much?

Was my attempt to control too much pressure on the branch?

Were my intentions to help it thrive instead stunting its growth, choking its ability to freely grow?

“My orchid’s blooming!” I announced to my daughter.

“Okay.”, she responded.

And that’s okay. The growth seems only meant for me.

And maybe all the propping up and hoping for blooming after very long hoping to come true, to not analyze all the failed attempts, to half-hearted efforts and the decisions that “growing” is not meant for you, is best met by tender care and waiting.

Acceptance.

Watering carefully so as not to drown the leaves, shifting the pot to share equally the sun and most importantly as my aunt would say

“Tell it good morning and just leave it alone. It will live best this way.” Aunt Boo

Funny how we grow best with just a very little help, we grow best on our own with support we know we can count on and know it won’t come like criticism, won’t stunt our growth, kill our hopes or

spread our secret fears of withering in a way that leads to the death of them.

Because it comes from the deep wells of us, not outsiders.

How do we grow?

We grow like the orchid moved from the corner six months ago to live beside me, roots untangled like fragile treasures and given a new home, a pot with ample place to spread and grow.

And the awareness that there are watchers, quietly excited to see us bloom, not wither.

To see us not give up on what’s been gently propped up yet again by grace and by the invisible nutrient, most important of all,

Hope.

There are six unopened pods reaching toward the light. I may have an even more extravagant orchid, its second birth of blooms, than I ever expected.

I’ll be looking forward, seeing clearly all my past efforts of reviving it were not wasted after all.

Nor have been I.

I’ll be open to being cared for, a little by others but mostly by God and his calling me “treasured” as I understand that me more every moment.

Hope waits for the invitation to grow and I’m the sender of the “come to the party”.

It never gives up.

Gladly accepts the nourishment of my patient embrace and regular care.

Hope leads to love and well,

love never fails.

Always hopes.

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”
‭‭1 Corinthians‬ ‭13‬:‭7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Answers in the Night

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, family, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Day 66 of 100 days of art from the margins of my Bible. (An Instagram Creativity Challenge)

“Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭23‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A sketch from long ago met me here today and I lingered for a moment and then happy to see I’d not added pen, erased it. I didn’t need the reminder, I decided, of how I’d chronicled hopelessness.

So, I added a tall figure, my favorite blues and then reread the verse. Alongside her there’s a figure walking away. Maybe representing a shadow of who I was. We all have shadow selves, they’re hateful reminders.

I suppose I’m so vulnerable here only because as I’ve said many times before…

God gives me thoughts and words and I simply decide to share them thinking someone else may need them to.

I don’t know what you lean toward hopelessness over, what you’re struggling with or waiting for to see as the benefit of not losing hope.

I just know the things we hope for are incomparable to the things we have likely already seen and known as evidence of our hope and that there is so much more to come.

God woke me with another verse. I went to bed a little uncertain of outcomes and to be honest a little angry with myself over something small.

Sometime before dawn, I had a dream about a painting covered in small pieces of paper that were no longer folded…but, open.

And a verse…

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Reminding me of the source of our hope and all the hope meant for us if we’d only open our eyes, look up, look around…hope being revealed.

So, today…always hope, maybe in a different way, one more aligned with His Spirit within, not “without” you in circumstances, people or things.

You are loved. Lift up your eyes. I will too.

He Knows

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, fear, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, testimony, traumatriggers, Trust, Truth, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing

I was hoping for yes and the answer came as no.

I told God I was disappointed and He answered, “I know.”

Not like a sound, not a breath of breeze across my cheek or the gift of a better tangible thing.

No, He answered with a shift in emotions, a soft invitation to acceptance and acknowledgement of my worth according to him and according to newfound and not new at all friends.

I really wanted to be among the thirty or so selected. It was my third year and I’d been hoping the “third time’s a charm” would prove wrong the “bad things in 3’s” old saying.

So, I talked to God and He reminded that hours before I’d thought about the possible what if’s if I was selected.

Things like what if I go and learn my work doesn’t really belong?

What if the evidence of me striving to be seen ends up making me want to hide?

These thoughts later said, “I was helping your heart get ready for rejection. I was hoping to ease you toward acceptance”.

I woke today thinking “return to small things”, become small like a child growing through no effort of their own, become small like the tiny seed that you are that needs nourishment not neglect.

Return to small by not doing so many things, just doing the ones that are just right for you, very well.

I’m smiling because out of the blue, “The Three Bears” makes perfect sense. Goldilocks entered a place she didn’t live. Curiosity led her to open the door. She roamed around exploring every inch and forced herself to fit in spaces too limiting, then places too big and then she found the “just right” spots and she rested.

I’m just as surprised as you may be that I’d be sharing a fairytale about a girl in a home owned by bears.

But, here’s where God is nudging me. To abandon some places and return and reside in others.

What this means is I may be less visible on Instagram.

I’m returning here and leaving Substack for my writing. Yes, I could “live” in both places but again, I feel God saying simplify.

I know this choice is not popular or trendy. Still, my words and those who’ve read them have been here in this space for quite a long time.

I think this is the “just right” fit.

I won’t use AI. It may be just me but I really can see the difference in the words of others and I don’t want mine to not “be me”.

I’m returning to my email sent through my Quiet Confidence Art site and I don’t know if anyone will notice or wish I’d make up my mind. I hope so and I hope not.

I hope to blog more there, specifics about my artwork, what inspires me redemptively.

This morning’s “first thoughts”…

So, if you’ve read this far, you’ve been invited in to the way God woke me this morning.

To grow, I must return to being small.

To cooperate with God in the ministry of art, it must be about tending the soil he’s assigned to me and not scattering myself in every place I can be, every open field I see.

To be an observer and a participant in God’s purpose to prosper me I must understand the gift of humility, rather than confuse it with so many other self-defeating mindsets.

To see Quiet Confidence Art be what God sees, I must cherish the tiny seed of it, I must love it freely and unconditionally.

I must let my art define and express redemption, hope and peace rather than define the worth of me.

You most likely will notice the small changes I’m going to make with going back to a more simple email and deciding what edits are needed everywhere else.

Just know I heard and am listening to “to grow you must become more small”.

You must do what you do best.

You must stay still, stay quiet, be confident in this as you grow strong in your artistry, not in comparison to everyone else.

If you follow my art, my ministry therein, you’ll see simplification there too.

If you’d like to follow along, just add your email on my About Page. (Link below).

Thanks for being here.

New things are coming, some of them I’ve been neglecting far too long.

In returning and rest is your salvation. In quiet confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15

Secret Things

aging, birthday, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

There’s a verse I love that helps me make sense of both tragedy and unanswered questions…of longings for different.

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever…”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭29‬:‭29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m standing in my kitchen remembering a verse I read earlier about “secrets”. A verse about the Lord hearing the cries of his children and also knowing the secret sorrows.

I pulled the big Bible from the shelf.

The one I gave my mama, New King James Version with hardly an underline or turned down corner or bookmark.

I’ve often wondered if she ever opened it or if she just accepted my gift because she knew I needed to give it, a gesture from a daughter hoping to help, to mend, to say something unexpressed.

I looked for the verse and then others I love to compare.

We all carry secret sorrows, longings too long expressed, spoken of so much we’ve exhausted the listeners.

Questions, emotions we cover because we “shouldn’t feel that way after so long or she’s just a dreamer”.

Today, if my mama were here she’d be eighty-six years old. She’s been gone for fifteen years.

I thought to watch the DVD given to us all from the funeral home and then put it back on the shelf.

I can’t really say why. It just felt best.

I have a roast cooking slowly in the oven, green beans very buttery and soon creamy mashed potatoes flavored with mayonnaise.

My husband will wake from overnight working to be met by this gesture.

That’s what I decided felt right on the day of mama’s birth.

That, and not rushing my day but opening again the burgundy large print Bible to the place where the Lord appeared to the amazement of Moses and assured him.

“…For I know their sufferings…” Exodus 3:7 NKJV

Closing the big Bible and deciding to leave it in a place beside me, a slip of paper fell out.

The sweetest thing, a little Sunday School coupon filled out by my daughter.

She’d printed the words and her name and then scratched both out to change her writing to cursive. 😊

It was a note telling me that along with other chores, she would “wash the dishes to honor God and me”.

And I began to feel the truth of being seen by her, the tender recollection of days as a mama that were both tired and trying.

They say the things we long for most that begin very early are

To be seen

To be soothed

To be secure.

Where do you feel you’re lacking? What is the secret ache you’re carrying?

What hurt needs soothing?

God sees you.

God offers a healing balm.

For me it was a note from my daughter that my mama kept tucked away,

the realization that my daughter’s a mama with just as kind and observant a daughter of her own.

Don’t look for answers, just know you are fully known and wait tender hearted and at rest for the evidences of love that will catch you by surprise.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

Always

Remember, love lives on.

Under God’s Heaven

Abuse Survivor, bravery, courage, curiousity, Faith, family, hope, love, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

“Should I do more?” I asked myself and then my husband.

I turned onto the road to my home and saw a clump of something ahead on the side of the road.

A figure, not a pile of wood, I realized as I got closer.

A young woman with hair the same color as mine, dressed in flannel with black and red and sitting staring straight ahead, her knees drawn into her chest.

In front of our home is a wide empty field with freely growing trees once cut down and now growing.

The high grass is gold and it bends and straightens with the wind.

This young woman sat still.

I turned and turned off my car in the driveway, deciding I’d check on her.

I’m not proud to tell you I thought about putting my purse safely inside the front door, tucking my keys and phone in my pocket. I thought for a second she might be violent.

I knew she’d been struggling, been seen roaming and had been hospitalized for addiction before.

And I knew and know what addictions can do for someone who needs what they need.

So, I thought she might be aggressive.

Then, thank you Lord, I decided differently. I walked to end of the drive, the wind like ice on my face. Quietly, almost like I was sneaking,

I asked, “Are you okay?” and she picked up her body slowly and she walked away.

Slowly, like a crawl, her steps kept on until I could no longer see her as I peered through the window in our garage.

“Should I do more?” I wondered again. Then decided I would simply pray. I could pray.

Pray without her knowing, without me needing her to know.

Because once, a very, very long time ago, I drove my little blue Celica all the way to Tybee Island in the cold.

I sat on the hard empty shore.

I sat and stared toward the ocean for I don’t know how long.

And then, I suppose emptied of some of my thoughts, my sorrows, my questions…I drove back to my imperfect life, my imperfect home, my still present struggles.

I’m remembering that day today.

Knowing it was bravery for me to sit oddly on the beach alone.

It was resourceful. It was deciding I could in fact, go on.

And no one told me so, other than myself.

I hope I get to see the young woman again. I hope God gives me a way to help her see her I’m pulling for her…

Pulling for her to decide she can go on knowing there is meaning and purpose she has not yet known.

That she may recall moments of feeling purposeless and searching for what seems too far to reach.

Maybe God will make a time for me to tell her, this young woman staring into the open and broken down field.

“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.”
‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Becoming, With Love

Angels, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, grandchildren, hope, love, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Yesterday, I chose the butterfly cup. As I daily do I considered which cup to set the tone for the day.

Groggy from fitfully sleeping at first and then sort of languishing, I had been still and quiet

waiting for the sunlight to come.

The butterfly mug was the choice and I waited for the coffee, frothed it with vanilla, checked on the dog and sat in my spot.

“Metamorphosis”, I thought.

I remembered the realization of why I loved a recent read.

What I thought was honesty and authenticity was something different, something I felt more clearly.

It was her “loving tone” and I decided quickly I want to be a writer with such a tone.

I want to be a woman whose tone is loving.

I realized it’s life that decides this for us. We just embrace the gift and most importantly be satisfied in it as enough.

I finished another collection of angels yesterday. The surprise of them being so intriguing to others at first surprised me.

I thought and debated on their titles, “Flourishing 1-7”.

Then I wrote down the reason for this name. I reflected on the process of their creation.

I paint paper.

I tear paper into pieces and I manipulate the shape.

I add colors in right places, I use what might have been thrown away to create a new thing.

These pieces, this process all happened sweetly accidental.

My granddaughter and I decided to make butterflies from pieces of some of my old and packed away papers.

And it simply began. This process that resulted in and continues to evolve into stories on canvas.

Happenstance has been the gift of this silent metamorphosis.

Sort of natural and more than sort of unforced.

Like the butterfly, beauty resulted from waiting quietly and still for it to ease from within

Spread gently its wings and fly.

Yesterday after church, my granddaughter held tightly a piece of white paper, folded and creased many times by her little hand.

Her mama held onto it like a prize as Elizabeth fluttered off to run circles with her brother.

I came home and added the final layer to the “Flourishing” collection, photographed them and added descriptions.

“Richly layered with color, these pieces represent flourishing to me. We think less about flourishing in the Winter months. We’re more likely to feel a bit “neutral” if we were to describe ourselves as a color palette. What if we leaned into the confidence that in what may seem to be a dormant season is actually a time of great internal growth? The truth is that whatever feels hidden or delayed is leading to our growth in lasting ways.”

I’m not sure others will see this on the canvas. It’s what I feel in the process and it’s my hope that love, that tone comes through.

My artwork, when unforced comes from within not without.

The postures, the colors, the movement and strokes so very often mimic wings.

I changed a piece yesterday afternoon late. It had been abstract, it had been soft and yet bold but only an idea of what I hoped it would say.

My brush found the lines, the curves that I know.

The tilt of the head in prayer, the waiting posture of one in the wings.

The patient figures believing, along with me, in the process, the secret one.

Calmly waiting to see what might develop, might say what’s needing to be said both clearly and lovingly.

And mostly to know that the process that both comforts and guides may offer hope to others.

This morning, after resting well, I chose the simple ivory mug.

The day is unfolding.

So is the love. Wait slowly.

Stay with it, the tone. Always hope.

We may know who we are.

We surely know who we’ve been.

But, we don’t know fully who we are becoming.

We should surrender to the art of us, not resist.

“The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.”
‭‭Lamentations‬ ‭3‬: 25‬-‭26‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Always hope.

You are loved.

And becoming.

In the Waning

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

Seconds after my dream was of lying in bed with a grandchild close by, my phone let me know I had a message.

I didn’t respond immediately because the dream was so real.

A small cardinal, bright red had flitted into the room and rested in the hollow place of my neck.

In my dream I got the attention of my granddaughter and then “ding!” I was awakened.

“For this reason the Lord is still waiting to show his favor to you so he can show you his marvelous love. He waits to be gracious to you….Overwhelmed with bliss are all who will entwine their hearts in him, waiting for him to help them.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30‬:‭18‬ ‭TPT‬‬

I answered the text, a long hoped for desire was decided would come true for a child today.

She’s been longing, hoping and waiting.

It’s exciting, the planned surprise!

A memory will be made.

There will be more “waited so long for” ones to come.

What have you longed for that’s already been given and yet, led you to long for something bigger or simply just left you wanting?

I sat in my “art room” with someone I love. What a mess, papers everywhere, started and stops and pauses, the evidence of where my art journey has come from and where gone

Is hoping to go.

Fascinated by a box full of artwork, I invited her to choose as many as she wanted.

We went through the stack together. I loved the ones she chose and the reasons she shared.

I told her of my certain belief that it’s God who kept me for art and kept it safely waiting for me to enjoy it, to share it as a part of my faith.

I have surely achieved more, been afforded more opportunities than I ever thought, given my history.

That’s why I know it’s true, I told her.

This is what God made me for.

What began with the timid tagline “quiet confidence” has become more brave.

Now, “always hope” coupled with my truth that “art offers hope”.

This morning, I wrote “hopeful” under the date, the gift of the cardinal on my pillow invited the tone longing to be expressed.

And I wrote myself a note that’s as true as my very breath.

Whatever and whomever (other than Jesus) you make your everything, your tipping point to measure worthless or worthiness, will continue to frustrate you with its dependability as far as not being enough.

So, wait for the one who is always and unchangingly enough. Be amazed by what comes with that commitment to will yourself to wait.

Success shifts.

People change.

Excitement is powerful and yet, it wanes. It’s supposed to.

God makes life this way so that we remember the only “enoughness” that never changes

Is Him, our Sovereign and often mysterious Maker.

Not since the world was made, Jacob was told in a dream of protection and little girls like me became women who waited even if imperfectly to recognize the providence, protection and promises of God…

has the gift of waiting been more an unchanging promise.

“Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go, and will bring you back to this land. For I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭28‬:‭15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It took three trips in and out of the Art Center to retrieve and load my unsold paintings yesterday.

It was hot. They were heavy.

I won’t deny the emotion I fought to deny. It was difficult.

Still, it was beautiful, the experience and the exhibition.

“Believer”, “In Every Season”, “Mercy Remembers”, “Secure” were a few of the unsold pieces.

Now they’re safely waiting to be found.

“It’s all in it, Lisa” my mama

This artist journey is a teacher. I’m still like a child learning.

For this reason,

I have hope.

Always hope.

“But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child is my soul within me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭131‬:‭2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

(P.S. I’m meandering my way back to writing from both losing the desire and I believe a bit of ability. I hope you’ll be forgiving as I decide to learn to write again.)

Continue and believe.

	Under the mask.. on Held
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Seeing and Being Seen
	Ray V. on Seeing and Being Seen
	Cathy Rigg on Come What May
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Curiosity