Art

So Small

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, hope, kindness, memoir, Peace, praise, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

Out walking, I prayed.

Lord, I’m in need of some sort of confirmation, small something to say, keep waiting for it or keep writing or no.

Big things attempted, proposal and query, how embarrassing to walk away…

Decide it’s okay to stop or to persist?

A story came through scripture about the little boy with the little bit of bread and what Jesus told the disciples to tell the thousands.

“Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.”

‭‭John‬ ‭6:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Then he multiplied the loaf, a miraculous sight.

The people were well fed.

Before the panic began, Jesus assured their need was met.

I’ve stopped tracking my followers and I’ve stopped asking for subscribers to my newsletter.

I’ve never been great at asking for things, I’m content with slipping back into my safe place.

The place that says find me if you need something, I’m always willing to listen and to help if I’m able.

I can pray.

This is not effective according to many in the community called writing. Not effective or conducive to being published, to being read.

To being valid, being noticed.

I get that. I understand and yet, small feels safe now.

Being okay with small seems a significant decision for me.

If one person reads a blogpost or an early morning relatable “sermon to self” that I share and feels more at peace or intrigued.

Isn’t that ministry?

Isn’t that me?

Wherever your life touches another life, there you have opportunity. George S. Merriam

Out of the blue, a friend asked for prayer, said she feels dismissed, sort of lost and empty.

I sent her a message back, a prayer.

We long for significance.

We look to outsiders and we long to belong somewhere, to be amongst the fancy others we decide have more purpose, are fulfilling theirs.

I’m thinking now about a woman in the Bible who has no name.

She is a widow.

She walks through the crowd to deposit two copper coins, amounted to a penny.

I’m thinking the others all around were comparing their donations and maybe some were humble or all were haughty.

They probably didn’t hear the coins as they fell from her hand into the place called the treasury.

I imagine the widow quietly turning to go her way, back to her solitary home.

Jesus saw her.

He saw that she gave what she could.

All she had.

“Jesus looked up and saw the rich putting their gifts into the offering box, and he saw a poor widow put in two small copper coins. And he said, “Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭21:1-4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m more emotional now.

My throat is tight inside as I type and think of the worth of these words, the gift of what Jesus did.

We don’t know her name. We only know what she gave.

So small.

Yet, so significant.

I will check in with my friend later, hope she’s found some rest from her seeking to fill the emptiness.

Because I pondered whether we’re even supposed to believe we’re significant. I mean aren’t we supposed to be servants, meek and lowly

Humble?

I learned a while back, a young preacher who called me a hero called out my idea of staying humble, staying hidden, not drawing attention.

Told me that was false humility, not God’s idea.

And I didn’t tell him then because it has taken me a while to believe it.

Just like the widow with only two cents,

I am significant.

So are you.

Unhindered

Art, contentment, courage, curiousity, freedom, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I’m curious whether musicians, singers, sculptors and dancers do the same.

Find little pockets of chance to create unhindered by the approval of audience or observer.

“Elizabeth’s First Autumn”

I walked with my baby grandchild and we talked about the leaves. Her eyes told me she was listening when I stopped to gaze on the brilliant color against the still spring like green.

I asked myself,

How does God decide which colors become the most brilliant and in what order and why do some take longer to turn.

I knew the answer, it’s how the sun lays down its warmth on the leaves, how they position themselves.

Same with us, same with me.

I’ll turn towards the light to become God’s idea of brilliant.

If not past years, this one, something is saying to me.

You’re coming into brilliance!

Take your time, keep exposing yourself to me.

Let the change in your colors come naturally and without force or calculation.

Nurture your creativity.

It is your treasure to be shared.

I find I’m painting/writing in this way.

I return to the place of ease and flow whether it be pencil and pad or canvas and easel.

This way, I’m not painting or writing and all along pondering the possibility of rejection.

It’s a practice, this non-demanding creativity.

A worthy practice. Pure abandonment in process and completion.

Unhindered.

I take it with me today as I complete three requests for art.

Today is an art day.

What is your creative expression?

Be unhindered, get it down on paper or hands messy in the clay or paint or across the keys or strings.

God made us to make beautiful things!

What We Need

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, pride, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, writing

Not sure which is the source of more regret, sharing our sorrows and discontentment or pretending they don’t exist, that elation and contentment never ever wane as we walk with our Lord amongst others.

Rubbing shoulders with their successes, exposing our less.

The back of my mind wonders if others wonder,

Who is this God she mentions and then seems to regularly forget?

The God who calls her back because He knows her, knows her fully, knows she’s willing to listen again.

“If you faint in the day of adversity, your strength is small.”

‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭24:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God who knows I’m learning, getting more comfortable with my strengths.

I saw Saturday morning beginning from a distance through the kitchen window.

I rose to see for myself the source of the glow making mosaics in the space of pine trees.

Sun coming up after a hard rain.

I pick the tiny bud realizing it’s been a bit since I brought one in.

Saturday beginning again to remind me not to despise small things.

Small things like regret over words painted by pity that longed for expression.

A sacrifice for others I guess, a place for their brave me too.

I’m happy for Saturday.

Lessons have settled, done their work and woke me with, although reluctant, a return to determination.

To get back with what is mine to do, gather myself up and submit all my efforts and energy to getting back on track.

God’s way.

Patient.

Oddly, “the Stones” are in agreement with scripture today.

I will get what I need.

Not always what I want.

If I try, sometimes.

How we live either stirs us up or settles us. Let your heart hold what’s in your hands right this very moment. Gently discipline yourself again and again and again…until there’s no frantic grasping for other things. You’ve become satisfied with only what is yours to seek, to gather, to make good things from, to hold a bit and then share with others. Your art. Your words.

Try sometime and then sometime again.

You’ll get what you need.

When your heart changes your mind and takes the lead.

Spreads down from your shoulders, your arms, your fingers.

Love you believe, love you release.

Art and words.

Continue and believe.

Selling Our Wares and Our Ways

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, fear, memoir, mercy, Peace, race, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I’ve mentioned before, my grandma was an artist. She created bejeweled Christmas balls and sold them.

I suppose she did this for two or three years.

She had a following.

If it were today, it might be said she had a platform, her art at Christmas was known county-wide.

I’ve not sold a painting in a month or so and today I was rejected twice via email, my bravely written and submitted words.

My words, my fingers easy on the keyboard or messy in the paint.

I saw the email, didn’t want to read it, held my phone at a distance as I scrolled as if the yes or no might cause my screen to explode or illuminate in my hand.

So many submissions, thank you.

Not selected.

Okay.

Less than 72 hours ago I was reminded of a favorite Old Testament verse, I admit I pluck out just a portion, my favorite part.

Don’t despise the day of small things.

“For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice…”

‭‭Zechariah‬ ‭4:10‬ ‭ESV

Someone called me asking about a gift certificate for a painting. I said, sure, okay.

$25

I heard a podcast interview that discussed the ministries of 30 or so years ago, sitting with others, talking about hard things and Jesus or helping someone on the cusp of not believing to believe again.

That’s what we called ministry back then.

Now we look at numbers, followers, visitors, and interactions.

Last week I quietly chastened myself. It stuck. I was changed more than momentarily.

My blog is my ministry.

My Instagram is my ministry.

My art is my ministry.

I felt like crap when I admitted I’d acted as if there had to be more.

Always more.

Almost three years ago I told a friend “I don’t want to be a cutesy trendy female Christian writer.”

It seems I’d forgotten.

I had made my readers small, the regulars who read my words, unimportant.

I realized all along and without me needing to know, my words are my ministry.

My words are always honest.

Are genuine, not prettied up hoping for selection.

These weekly, daily, maybe more are truly me, true me.

Brave and oh, the trendy word.

“Authentic”.

I prayed last week for some sense of direction to keep writing, trying or give up.

Specifically, I asked God to send someone to tell me keep going or settle.

Then I got the rejection of two pieces and I acted as if I’d never asked the above question.

God’s not saying quit writing.

God is saying quit chasing notice. Stop seeking acclaim.

Why are you trying to write anything other than what you started and can’t bring yourself to finish?

Because I fear rejection.

Yet, I fear giving up even more.

I’ll keep going, slow and with free speaking, thinking, praying and believing.

I’ll keep writing and I’ll keep painting and I’ll keep taking the same steps as before knowing I’m still headed towards forward, not the me of before.

Small things of my day today?

I finished a tiny watercolor painting, my three month old granddaughter on my lap.

We walked together, Elizabeth and I and when I mentioned the birds, her sweet face turned in their direction,

I prayed with my cousin and she with me and we helped one another.

Ministry.

Yes, I used what God gave me, small things.

My ministries today.

Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and God will lead my thinking. I’ll type a little something and someone might comment, “needed this today” and I’ll answer

“I’m just saying what God told me first thing.”

And I’ll sit and add colors to canvas and in my comforting of myself, I’ll make art for others.

I don’t know why I continue, rejection is a certain thing.

Small things, I won’t despise them.

Won’t despise the days full of them and what they are teaching me.

Rejection and joy, all in a day.

Listless Pursuits and Edits

Abuse Survivor, Art, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, grace, memoir, painting, Peace, rest, surrender, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

How do you continue in a pursuit, something you feel in your soul is yours God gave you, made you to do?

Vocation, talent, thing that when it “clicks” feels like your gift?

How do you keep going when whatever is taking you farther has hit a bump in the road, a stall?

You don’t think right away and resist the realization, God is intentional when He slows us, requires our acceptance of the shift, the limbo, other adjustments we resist.

We want to use what we know, learn from others, humanly input some change to eliminate the insecurities in the lull.

I do anyway.

Partly, y’all. I just turned 59, I waited a long time to believe I had what I call a share-worthy treasure.

My testimony. My story.

My art and my words.

I make lists every morning, both tasks and requests of God longing to be farther along, a little perplexed over do I continue or surrender the idea of possibility.

My mama always said,

It’s all in it!

And I knew it was true but I dreaded her truth, keep on or stop, just know some days you’re floating and others you fight to swim.

I guess bravery keeps swimming, doubt watches from the shore.

I journal little exhortations to myself I hope I may remember an hour later.

Why are we uncomfortable with the state of limbo, I wonder.

Just now, I’ve explored website options for my art and whether I should bring all my pieces home from where I’ve consigned them, lay them down for new photographs and then create a presence, a polished website.

I dream of being selected by a gallery as an artist but I’m not ready or respected without a website.

I’ve just stood with my feet on the rain soaked grass and pondered my day, my ways.

What about the book idea? What about the proposal out there, the query?

I’d rather be an artist. If I’m honest, that’s what I’ve dreamt to be, meant to be?

I’ll finish the remaining seven chapters and then I’ll edit too much me out and then I’ll mail the perspective chapter’s inspiration to each of the women who I’ve set out to honor, to write of their being Jesus to me.

Then, I won’t hold my head down in regret or humiliation over thinking publication might be possible.

I’ll rest in acceptance and I’ll close that door.

Limbo is miserable, waiting is an invitation to toss everything and permission to be satisfied with that discarding.

Then the thought, but your story is for others handicapped by traumatic experiences who need your voice, your choice to seek hope over remorse.

That’s what I’ve always felt God said when He told me this was my treasure.

So, today I will continue. I’ll do one thing at a time.

I will pray and the thing I’m to continue will come naturally.

Naturally, when I don’t look too far ahead and I let God, not me, lead.

I don’t really understand this thing called a calling or being “called” or following a “call”

I told God so this morning.

Is my pursuit to be less about a pursuit guided by a list every morning?

Maybe.

Maybe so and maybe that’s the reason I’m increasingly captivated by His sky?

How silly and such a waste of time would it be for me to stare up towards heaven, backyard, walking trail, parking lot at the mall?

Me, oblivious to anything or one, being pulled upward, seeking, finding, being better, stronger and more suited for His plan?

There has to be a reason my head keeps tilting skyward.

“I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭3:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

My birthday card from my daughter, her hubby, their baby daughter was a treasure this year!

It wished me, “a rare bird” a happy day. Then the puppy somehow finagled it loose from its frame, found a hidden spot and began at the corner, chewing at the pretty paper.

I was upset. I overthought it. I called the puppy a demon dog with evil intent. I put it away in a drawer, nothing could fix it.

I told my daughter and she allowed my pitiful story. Said she’d get me another and later told me to frame it, what a memory, what a good story!

I told her no, not funny.

Then I did, I framed it, the card with the little birds and the perfect sentiment and the bottom corner imperfect and chewed.

I asked God this morning to bless my writing and to bless my art.

I’m not sure I’ve asked that of Him before. Asked for redirection where I need it, for His gentle push to persevere and a sense of gentle settling when anxiety asks what is coming.

And I asked him to be my editor, to edit me and my story and to help me to know

Am I being led another way or am I running scared? Are you changing my course or am I jumping ship? Am I stubborn child or a patient learner?

Lord, I want to honor you with my life, my words. Help me to edit my story.

“ Be still, and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 ESV

‭‭It’s raining now, no sky captivated staring today.

Maybe later. Yes, later.

And more and more, less list obsession and more seeing, knowing, being pursued by God.

I’m linking up at Tell His Story, a community of writers led by Mary Geisen.

https://marygeisen.com/how-to-learn-from-an-arctic-tern/

No Plan Me

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, doubt, grace, memoir, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Since I’ve changed my blog site up just a tad…naively and fantastically I think I may add three or four more chapters.

And hey, someone may look, may be curious, is her brand hope, is this her message?

Does her presence match her proposal?

Is her connection the hope of redemption?

Do enough people read her?

In the book idea that lingers, a memoir, stories of women who loved me like Jesus despite the disaster of me.

One about redemption I’ve received, finally.

No, maybe today actually it’s more eventually I’ll believe it was and is for me.

I read yesterday that doubt shouldn’t be disguised by incessant quote of scripture.

It’s better to be real about your occasional disbelief than to hide your dismay and eventually implode.

The heart can only hold so much.

We all gotta get quiet sometimes, tell God what it is we need to know.

img_6506

Oh, Magnolia

I won’t despise the day of discontent because I know the content will return in a quiet and almost out of nowhere whisper.

What I’m not finished may be complete, I’ll have an entire manuscript and what if, what if nothing happens when the “piece” is done?

Perhaps, I buy several big envelopes and I mail the pages stapled together to quite a few people, maybe some family.

Or, I don’t because wouldn’t it be a shame to know they probably wouldn’t read it anyway?

This, I have decided is why I paint and get closer and closer to no longer writing.

I’m alone in my room, my canvas, the puppy satisfied at my feet and I dab the brushes on my apron, I wipe the excess color from my fingers.

I paint.

I don’t write, I fear returning to what I’m quite scared to death I might give up.

It’s actually a little incapacitating ridiculousness, that I continue.

Yet, I do.

I continue and maybe a tiny bit believe.

Or I paint little brush shaped squares in varying texture and width and length and

I think.

And I add color with no set plan.

And before I know it, I decide.

“Oh, Magnolia”.

And I’m satiated, satisfied, singularly successful.

Just me.

img_6491.jpg

And I can’t think of a biblical reference other than waiting doesn’t mean quitting, maybe just means reprieve from me being all about me and back to quietly trusting

In who and what I believe.

Eventually.

We shall see.

But Jesus

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, freedom, grace, hope, memoir, mercy, mixed media painting, painting, Peace, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Truth, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

Two pages of print so fine I resort to going without my glasses. My vision is aging, my prescription apparently needs changing.

Side note, 49 got me worse than 50 did and I’m thinking 59’s gonna hit me hard the same.

Still, oh mercy me…I’ve come along way in my most recent ten years!

Thank you Jesus!

At first I thought I might just focus on Ephesians, the second chapter.

I’ll take just a few words and I linger in my absorption of their meaning being just a tad different.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us,”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I felt the emotion of remembrance and I let it set in

But God.

Yesterday, I listened to a podcast that always welcomes the discussion of hard things.

A pastor, raised by his grandmother talked about his struggles and I won’t attempt to quote him, it’d be better if you listen in.

Derrick Hawkins on JOE

I’m out walking.

Fooled by the morning temps now hot, achy for some reason. I pressed on if for no other reason than to get back home.

And I listened.

At the end of this podcast, Lisa Whittle asks her guests an every episode question.

What’s the last thing you’d say about Jesus? Lisa Whittle

When Derrick Hawkins answered, I said “Oh” out loud and again “Oh, my.”

I’ll remember that like a Bible story, I’ll consider it significant.

When the woman at the house of the leper in Bethany poured out expensive ointment from her alabaster flask over Jesus’ head the disciples were indignant.

I guess they were maybe vying for his approval. Perhaps, they thought he’d find her behavior flamboyant or ridiculous.

They were haughty in their pointing out her behavior to him. I love it.

[bctt tweet=”Jesus said basically, let her love me. Let her be. ” username=””]

That she’d take it upon herself to worship Jesus unprompted and unexpectedly, she simply did what her heart led her to do.

She walked up behind the reclining Jesus and she honored him by giving away what was seen as precious, costly, not to be wasted.

She couldn’t imagine a better use for it.

The best of her given so unabashedly.

The best of what she’d acquired or been given, given away in a sense for the sake of worship, of remembrance of him, of believing what he’d been telling the others was about to occur.

Like a farewell offering, a worthy gift to a deserving recipient.

Maybe the disciples doubted the doom of his death. Maybe the woman at Bethany believed and was ready.

Because of her lack of concern for the disciples opinion, she will be remembered.

“Truly, I say to you, wherever this gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭26:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Here in South Carolina on a balmy nothing spectacular morning, I turn to this story.

On the day I decide to open my Bible after two days of just phone found scripture, I sit and let my eyes fill with tears.

I am connected with her story as I was with the one of Derrick Hawkins.

In the mornings I go out barefooted and stand in the cool wet grass for a minute.

I look up usually.

Sometimes down, at the level place God has me now and I know clearly I cannot discount his mercy.

I made a list this morning of all things of me.

Changed artist to painter and writer to blogger, added roles most important, wife, mother, grandmother, disciple.

Told myself, let’s be honest Lisa Anne and celebrate that honesty being enough in your Father’s eyes and hands.

No need to demand my attention I feel God’s been saying.

[bctt tweet=”Stay aligned with Jesus, be unconcerned with who may be watching.” username=””]

I pray I’d not have been the disciple who said thousands of years ago, I don’t know Him or the one who couldn’t stay awake or the one who kissed his cheek as a way to show the killers who to take.

But I am some days, I falter.

He finds me.

Says come back now, your unique worship is welcome, nothing is wasted.

Give me what is you.

How will I be remembered?

Will it be in ways of significance or simply small by our culture of comparison and cutesy competition and Instagram celebrity standards?

I don’t believe this satisfies Jesus and I’m beginning to believe it doesn’t satisfy me.

My seeking of recognition.

Not my anxious counting of followers, rather my calm obedience to my content consistently representing my hope of causing curiosity over Jesus, my possible never knowing how my story might change another.

And that being okay, the not knowing that one day a grand or a great-grand or even a stranger might say oh, I love the way she wrote about life and love and Jesus or I love the way she laid down color on canvas.

Letting Jesus decide the direction of my blog, the worth of my story.

The image and images I leave.

Time is not a factor in the impact of our stories and our brave acts of sharing.

The alabaster flask anointing story of Jesus causes me to be certain of my mercy story.

Causes me to know I’m a child of God and that Jesus will always be my defender.

The story of Derrick Hawkins and his last comment about Jesus got me good.

I’m sure he didn’t plan it, my connecting with him.

But God did.

Got me thinking I understand mercy more now.

Mercy that’s rich.

That doesn’t chastise or refute me.

[bctt tweet=”Mercy finds me and says, that was then, this is now.” username=””]

My Heavenly Father saying

Yes, I know Lisa Anne but, Jesus.

And me in agreement saying, I’ll continue.

Continue.

Continue and believe.

“For we are his workmanship…”

‭‭Ephesians‬ ‭2:10‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Peaches

Art, confidence, contentment, curiousity, grace, mixed media painting, painting, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Here’s how it goes around here. I paint abstract landscapes or girls angelic, occasionally a flower and a couple of days ago, 3 peaches. I have pencil sketches of a nude figure with a slightly askew bun. It’s beautiful, graceful and free, a departure for me.

Me: What does this painting make me you think of?

GT: Uhmmmm….A sky? Water? A woman? Sunflowers?

Me: Did you notice the peaches painting?

GT: Yeah, I saw the big peach, it was big.

Me: No, there are 3.

I suppose it’s a good thing he doesn’t get too much into the sanctuary of my “business” and that whatever I paint, yeah that’s good.

Like the time I spent a week trying to paint the likeness of Jimi Hendrix only to consistently find myself staring at James Brown.

He swore it was Jimi. It for sure wasn’t.

That piece was covered over with freedom and resulted in a woodsy set of illuminated pines.

I love the peaches, the three of them.

Sigh.

“Three Sweet Peaches” is available now. Other art can be purchased at Artisan Market and Decor in Aiken or at the award winning spot with Chef Brandon Velie, Juniper in Ridge Spring, SC. Y’all, you must dine there!