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 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).
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.
Yesterday, I chose the butterfly cup. As I daily do I considered which cup to set the tone for the day.
Lovingly Torn
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.
Flourishing I , the hem
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.
Becoming
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
We left the gathering, an annual one that’s held in a building adjacent to a country home. The barn-like place is love-filled, its walls are covered with memorabilia and photos representing life and the life spans of family.
We arrive and we move from table to table, from people not seen in a year or so and maybe a couple or a few you may have passed in the grocery store.
The conversations are sweet, it’s a catching up and it’s a reunion for the cousins. They love it. They recognize many families neglect this type gathering.
The one who prays acknowledges this. I mostly observe. I join in and say words when it seems to fit.
That’s not because of the “rules” of the get-together. It’s simply my nature.
My mama used to tell us all that her husband, my daddy saw no need to speak unless there was something important to say.
Although, he was a quiet man, one of few words, I cherish the smoothness of his voice.
I remember the way he paused as he spoke. There was a sense of waiting for the hearer to absorb his contribution.
I listened.
A word woke me this morning.
I added it to my list, a list that came from a realization that in life and in Christmas, we often have grandiose expectations.
We expect Christmas be a certain way. Not to mention the comparison of others’ celebrations.
I wondered how my heart would settle if I decided to
“Expect less, acknowledge more.”
A list was formed.
Safety, Food aplenty, Gifts, Smiles, Gatherings, a sense of God’s nearness, Pink Dawns…
Quietude
Google informed me of the meaning, no surprise I loved it.
Another gift came from Google, a sweet surprise. This word has a color named for it.
A shade that’s a blending of grey and blue and green.
“Quietude” is the chosen name for the HGTV 2025 color.
I finished the 3rd of three paintings last night, large 30×40’s.
The first, “Now Found”,
“Now Found”, detail
the second, “Light and Momentary”
“Light and Momentary”, detail
and the third, “Have Hope”.
“Have Hope”, detail
Driving home from the cousin gathering, my husband wanted to talk. I told him I was talked out, let’s be quiet.
He insisted and prodded me with a well-thought question…
“Who would you like to talk to that you’d be just so captivated by the conversation, on the edge of your seat and just waiting for every word?”
Stubborn me replied, after a few seconds, “No one, that’s a good question but I can’t think of anyone I want to talk to right now.”
He believed me. He knows me well.
But, he spoke in the long pause of accepting my answer.
“I thought you’d say Jesus.”
“Yes, I just thought of that.” I smiled and answered.
We finished the Christmas Eve country drive home and I sat in my quiet spot with my grown son who is often quiet himself.
morning quiet
Understood, I felt understood.
“Accepted”, a word I’m adding to the list of acknowledgments.
“Grace”, too.
Just now, I revisited Christmases past through my photos. Babies have grown, changes have come, tough days have occurred, peace has been given and endurance has become even more a quiet strength for me.
Because I’ve learned and am learning a couple of things from my “telling it to Jesus alone.”
He giveth more grace.
I am loved.
There’s so much more coming for me.
Because I’ve accepted, I’m the “quiet one” and always will be.
“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
Always hope.
I look toward my tall Christmas tree, the one ornament, a tiny home, my granddaughter insisted be for it and my uncertainty because it “wasn’t really me.”
And now I see, the bluish green, a pale teal that’s happy quietly although boldly, its pretty red door sort of calling, “open me”.
How can it be?
The color in me, the quiet color has become an invitation to me being me.
A little house accepted by me, inviting an even bolder acceptance of the strength in the choice to keep hoping.
“As for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more.” Psalms 71:14 NIV
When I tweaked the words on the About page of my Artist website, I had really no idea of the reason.
I knew I wanted to “offer hope” to others through my paintings.
I also knew it wasn’t really within my power to produce hope for others.
Especially when I’d been in a season of waning hope.
Still, I embraced it as a brand, ordered stickers to use on my packaging and even put a sticker on the back window of my car.
I envisioned people passing by and in some small way, a little circle sticker might lead to a belief in the power of hope.
Sure, “Lisa Anne Tindal – Fine Art” is under the two words; but, my name is in the tiniest of fonts.
How do you feel about hope?
Is it just a fluttery little word like a tender feather or do you understand the weight of deciding its importance.
I’m beginning to see it more as a choice we can make, an outreached hand of goodness for the taking.
I’m beginning to understand that to “defer” hope doesn’t mean you decide “oh,well…maybe not”.
It means deciding to give up.
Morning Mercy
It’s so very easy to focus inward on all the secret longings and doubts, an inventory of inwardness. When I focus upward and outward, I notice things other than myself.
It’s a practice that seems small but makes a big difference.
What have you stopped hoping for?
God keeps bringing me to the phrase “deferred hope”.
Is there a secret you’re keeping? Are you doubtful and desperate but doing your best for others not to know?
Because God is a God of hope, if we postpone or decide there’s no hope, we’re essentially “deferring” our belief in God.
Hope today.
Decide to be intentionally hopeful that God is near, loves us and is only good.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12 ESV
For a woman who recalls little girl church being a place more of unbelonging than one of welcoming invitation, more of shouting than speaking…some words and concepts have always felt too special for me.
Being “consecrated” or living a life that can be defined as consecrated seems way too high and mighty and too out of my timid and torridly lived life to believe.
It was never taught that it was good to be strong, only honorable to be tiny and weak.
Last Saturday morning the house was quiet.
Ornaments I’d reimagined and repainted were laid out and tied with gold ribbon.
The morning light was pretty. I photographed them one by one on a white backdrop of poster board.
Carefully edited them and added to my website. Then I settled on the floor and moved to lie down, my face resting on the carpet.
The Angels
I prayed an honest prayer:
“Lord, I consecrate these ornaments to you. I consecrate my art to you.
I don’t know what that means, Lord. It feels too out of my realm, too out of my reach. Still, I consecrate my life to you…even if it feels too special for me, too much for me to understand.”
I rose from the floor, gathered up all the pretty ornaments and moved to the next thing of the day.
Then the collection of Angel Ornaments, numbered 1-7 sold out in an hour.
I am beginning to understand the simplicity of simply giving something to God and going on with an internal hope.
To believe such pretty words could be mine to trust in.
Because deciding not to hope or deciding a life in rhythm with God is just too special and unattainable is deciding to live in scarcity
rather than abundance.
And it’s a choice we’re invited to make, never one made as the result of a harsh or heavy-handed or demanding God.
That’s the truth.
The truth we can believe.
“The consecrated life is a life let go of …a life that opens its heart and hands to the Sovereign God’s knowledge of me completely. The consecrated life trusts that the Maker of me knows me best and knows best.”
Maybe you’re still that little girl with the ingrained rants in your head that you’re just too impure, too damaged, too from the wrong side of the tracks, too destined to repeat the things genetics and environment said you would…
And maybe you have.
And maybe you survived it all.
The reason is that hope and that tiny flicker of purpose, the light that may have dimmed.
But never has and never will go out.
Let yourself let it shine.
Hope always.
Always hope.
Not a single one of us is unfit for being drawn closer to that consecrated life.
It’s a choice without exclusions or preselected expectations.
If hope “deferred” (decided against) makes our hearts sick, how much more well will we be if we believe in hope
It’s not covered with paint, not a stain or a splatter. It’s not folded and stuffed in a drawer, it’s on a hanger.
Soft material, sort of beige and in a classy black font, one word “influencer”.
It was given to me, not a purchase. Someone thought it was a good fit.
I woke this morning recalling a beautiful dream and contrasting it alongside a question waiting to be responded to.
I journaled,
If I am quiet, I will be able to know which things and which people align with God’s will for my life.
In a way, I was wondering which influences in my life point to hope and which do not.
I asked God to help me see others clearly and to be able to know which influences are healthy and which are not.
I recognized in my soul that just as God sees the vulnerability and weakness of me, He sees it in others and those weaknesses in them cause them to not be a right now good influence on me.
So, I made a bullet list, not one that says “you don’t belong”, just a quiet inventory of those who contribute to my hope and those who don’t.
Not a cancel type thing, just a recognition, a nudge of clarity so that I don’t give up hope.
I have a bookmark in my Bible.
“Only speak words that make souls stronger.” Ann Voskamp
I’ve been trying to commit to this as a filter in all I speak, write or even show in my facial expression.
I’ve been set on being at peace so that I can bring peace into every room I enter.
So that through me, the light of Christ and the voice of hope is observed and considered,
Not simply tolerated.
And so, I quietly asked myself, right now which conversations and interactions are making me
Hopeful?
Which are contributing to
Doubt?
Which feels like a reverent posture of pure and humble wisdom.
The stance God desires.
When this journaling began this morning, this inventory of the “yes’s” I need to nurture
I had not opened my Bible.
I turned to today’s date in “Joy and Strength” and was led to Deuteronomy.
Wisdom that complemented my own words.
A warning for a woman like me, a people pleaser, a longing to belong “belonger”, a person who is easily manipulated in ways that seem innocent, that aren’t harmful, just not best.
“If a prophet or a dreamer of dreams arises among you and gives you a sign or a wonder, and the sign or wonder that he tells you comes to pass, and if he says, ‘Let us go after other gods,’ which you have not known, ‘and let us serve them,’
you shall not listen to the words of that prophet or that dreamer of dreams.
For the Lord your God is testing you, to know whether you love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul.”
Deuteronomy 13:1-3 ESV
Get quiet with God. Silence the naysayers. Listen to the voices that speak hope and healing.
Those who softly warn you of your straying rather than string you along.
Those who love you, not just court you.
Nurture the “yes’s” while not discarding the “no’s”. Tend to the hope God planted inside your soul so that it becomes bigger than anything about you.
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.
In Progress
“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.
Uncertainty
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”.
Hopeful
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 beingenough.
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.
Self-Portrait
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.)
“It is possible to see the will of God in everything, and to find it, as one has said, no longer a sigh, but a song.”
Handley C.G. Moule
“Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for the one who believes.” Mark 9:23
Yesterday, I thought about the promise of “possibilities” and this morning one bird woke me up early. I remembered being drawn to read about the Samaritan woman at the well over and over, really drawn in by Jesus’s offer in just one verse.
That life could be different for her if she’d understand and accept His offer despite her history or her confusion and questions.
“Jesus replied, “If you only knew who I am and the gift that God wants to give you, you’d ask me for a drink, and I would give you living water.” John 4:10 TPT
I sit in the quiet, books all around me and coffee in my cup and just like yesterday, I find a promise in one verse I could “live with” all day.
And I, like the daddy of the boy in need ask…
I believe, help my unbelief. (Mark 9:24)
Can you imagine all the things that may change if you’d be brave and a bit innocent enough to simply believe God for the possibilities and breakthroughs He’s waiting to bring?
It’s a simple little shift really. Just decide to believe all things are possible when we ask God,
Is this your will for me? And then take the next steps onto the path of unexpected possibilities.
Or wait quietly when the answer is no, not now, not for you.
Possibility is born in the heart of one who believes. God’s will becomes a song, not a sigh.
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 