My word for 2025 sort of lingered like a stranger at the door, uncertain of asking to be invited in. Initially I chose it in a conversation with an art curator. She’d been watching me from a distance. I initiated the messaging. I told her I hoped to develop a clear brand for my art. I used the word “polished”. She assured me that she felt my brand was clear. I suppose I didn’t believe her.
As the months progressed, I pondered the word and why it had chosen me, grabbed my attention.
Here at December’s end, I’ve been holding like a treasure next to my heart, what I’ve learned about my “2025 Word”.
I’ve been protected but I’ve also endured more than usual in terms of how my past trauma refused to be silenced.
Maybe it’s because I said “Yes” to doors that invited me to step forward, to share my artist story and how my trauma both inspires and sort of “dares me” to keep painting.
In many ways, I felt similar although not at all dangerous threats and betrayals. Maybe the old weapons that were still hanging on had to be smoothed down to the almost nothing left to defend against the wounds.
I found a verse a few months ago that helped me accept that being polished had nothing to do with my aesthetic and everything to do with my calling.
“He made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me away.”
Isaiah 49:2 ESV
All year long, I’ve been being readied for more than I ever felt possible. In the waiting, I’ve been protected.
I understand this now and that understanding has led to a word for 2026, “Embrace”.
It may change over the months but to me, it represents me no longer trying to resist the parts of me that are hard stories to acknowledge.
To embrace rather than the incessant need to have it all not be a part of me, to embrace every cell of my makeup as my identity rather than through every effort available to me, try and try to erase it.
To embrace what can’t be erased and to let those parts of my story lend themselves to my creativity, unhindered.
To embrace is to be at ease. To erase requires pressure.
To embrace welcomes change. To erase leaves no chance for redemption’s touch to be made visible.
To embrace is to honor every part. To erase is to abandon the muse, the stories that made me.
I’m unsure how this new mindset might challenge or grow me. I’m certain it won’t be a steady change. It’ll occur in increments.
Are there parts of your story you’re desperate to erase at last and be done?
Can you see yourself deciding to hold it all so very close, the hard and the soft, the ugly and the beautiful, the damage and the restored?
“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.
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.”
Waiting For Me
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.
Coming Soon
“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?).
It all comes together
“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.”
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.
my morning corner
“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.
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.
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
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.
I decided it will be better, be okay if I do this some other time, some other day.
A savvy and successful young advisor has been advising on many new ways to “get my art in front of people”.
I was honest with her, attributed it to my age,
“I can’t keep up with all of “the things.” She suggests a schedule, the better use of and acceptance of AI.
I tell myself and others and her,
I don’t want it done for me without “me”. Plus, I don’t want to become so automated that I lose not just my voice but my ability to write in my very own honest voice.
Last night, seemingly out of the blue, a blog post was commented on. The post was nearly seven years old. I felt nostalgic. I felt the feelings back then, a story about a bird on a porch.
I also noticed I don’t write nearly as freely as before. I believe it’s the pressure. It’s the distractions, it’s the chasing after people to convince them to visit my artist website, it’s a subtle cojoling of readers to buy my art so that I will feel good enough.
Here’s the post that represents who I want to get back to:
It’s true I’m older, more busy, have grown as an artist and so am otherwise engaged.
Still, I want to find that sweet and wise voice again. I believe I will.
I also believe I’ll have to do some deciding of what to keep and what to let go, decide whether to let the stories I carry be too important to be used as fodder for my “growth”.
Deciding doing all the things is less important than doing the genuine things.
I ramble.
I stopped striving earlier today, technology causing me to fret. I stopped striving even though I wanted to share my art.
Paintings on paper inspired by old hymns. They’re a little bit abstract, the colors of coal and indigo with just a hint of coral against angular figures.
I want others to be affected by them the way my emotions softened as the end result came through.
Still, I stopped frantically forcing a reel.
Told myself once and again.
Cease striving.
I joined the Substack bandwagon and I’m on the fence as to whether to stay on board.
I hope to resume writing here. It’s always felt like home.
Time will tell. I’ll wait and see.
For now, here’s my voice on Substack. I’d love to know what you think.
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
Cooking to Remember
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.
An unexpected gift I was given on Christmas Day is now a morning ritual.
finding the light
A voice like comfort responds to my ask. Her name is Alexa. I know you’ve probably known her for a bit. I’m just getting to know her.
Today is the third morning I’ve spoken into to the predawn darkness and asked for the “verse of the day”.
The first day the verse was from the Book of John, the words of Jesus telling the disciples not to worry. He was leaving but he’d be preparing a place, they’d be with Him soon.
I listened. My takeaway was the pure confidence in the words of Jesus and the accepted promise and confidence in the listeners who could not perceive all of it as certain truth.
The second day the verse came from John 16, the verse again in the words of Jesus, again with assurance but this time, an assurance of difficulties.
This morning, New Year’s Eve, I asked my little nightstand friend for the verse again.
Today’s verses? Isaiah 43:16-19
I thought, I know these by heart.
There’s a sketch in the margin here from years ago, a time marking the embrace of this promise.
“This is what the Lord says— he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Isaiah 43:16-19 NIV
I know this passage. I’ve held it closely as a promise and I’ve used it often for not so gentle redirection.
Perceive: to obtain knowledge by the senses, to understand, to discern
“Do you not perceive it?”
These five words begged me to listen longer, to examine myself, to consider my perceptions.
How my perceptions of life past and present affect my influence.
My influencing others toward hope, toward peace and toward newness regardless of their past.
Because…
I can only influence others. I don’t bring change, only offer quietly, my influence.
I can and should assess the perceptions of others of me.
Do I love with pure intentions only?
Are my regrets sincere?
Do I surrender the impossibly hard feelings and things or do they wreak havoc on my influence, my presence?
Do I coddle my past like a sick baby needing constant attention or do I honor that past in light of my present wellness? Do I care for my past wounds from a healthy distance?
new strength every morning
Our perceptions determine our influence.
What ways has God made a way for you?
What dried up and deserted places have been refreshed to flow like peaceful streams?
Are you focused on the old things, even as recent as yesterday, and worn blinders to obscure the new things springing up?
God loves you. You have a future.
Do you not perceive it? Isaiah 43:19
Happy New Year’s Eve.
Can you hear the voice of hope?
Listen closely and remember mostly, it’s a soft voice like morning light in the distance, a comforting whisper responding to your questions.
Gently calling and asking you to remember and keep remembering.
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 