To see more clearly, I must simply gaze more faithfully.
I’ve just completed an application to be an artist vendor at an April event.
I have a list of other places I and my art may “get to be” and one I was selected for and am a day late on the paperwork. I’ve just emailed the coordinator and said a solid silent prayer.
It’s okay if I’m not there. There are other places I should be and you know these, Lord.
Tiny Words
I’m of the age I can see far away only with my contacts in and to read I suddenly am learning neither glasses nor contacts are beneficial. I toss them off, they are no help.
I see best up close, reading or painting with simply my naked eye.
I see what is needed to be seen by me, nothing more and only what’s very close.
I see just enough.
My Place
My focus is on what is near.
What is now, not in the distant future, not beyond my reach or my vision.
And so, I can give myself grace and permission to simply and quietly do what is mine to do in my “present place”.
Cakes, Mamas and Remembrance
“Act faithfully according to thy degree of light, and what God giveth thee to see; and thou shalt see more clearly.” Edward D. Pusey
Walking, listening, with an attentive ear and vision only committed to faithfully see what’s not too far to see, only just in front of me.
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left.” Isaiah 30:21 ESV
I’m joining other writers today in the Five Minute Friday community, prompted by the word “Far”
A couple of weeks ago, a gallery employee commented on what she loved about a painting. She gave a detailed and thoughtful expression of why and I agreed with her, that I loved the same detail in the piece, in the colors.
I thanked her for going a little bit farther than necessary. Rather than just saying, “I like that one or that piece is nice.” she articulated in a way that gave power to the painting, even peace.
I told her I believe that’s a treasure, when a person notices something and expresses in words the evidence that you have been truly “seen and known”.
That’s a true gift to me. Something that sticks.
Just telling someone the truth you’ve observed.
“Angel Girl”
Yesterday, after the most beautiful walk with the music of Andrew Peterson to add to the mellow of me, I paused in the yard. I moved the withered pansies from the statue and I noticed the weathering of the cement, the spots brown from age and the places cracked by icy days or maybe summer heat.
I put the birds together, the dove and the cardinal, thinking stoic and a little unpredictable, a story I kinda love.
A Menagerie
As January invites, there are inventories I’m taking. Quietly considering where this journey should go, art and writing, writing and art.
For the life of me, I can’t bear to let one go.
More importantly, I don’t think God is telling me so.
Instead, I feel a different pull toward a different audience. So far, really just a handful of people who relate to what I feel is courageously honest in my painting and in my essays or posts.
I created an Instagram post to determine “my ideal client”. I asked a couple of questions as a way to go forward.
What would you like to see more of ?
I added photos of each, women/angels, landscapes and abstracts?
And this:
the most valuable question
I left it all there and the algorithm based traffic and responses were a bit of a tiny ripple.
On my walk, I thought about it all. About my tendency to only go just so far in connecting because of fear of not connecting, fear of rejection.
Fear of showing up and showing up prepared and yet, not being seen.
I thought of the wisdom of my children who are keen observers (often honest).
One saying “show up confident” and the other saying “don’t be negative when you talk about your art”.
Thought of the morsels of truth they add to the big barrel of not so true, just always realities of this work, this calling to “offer hope”.
I woke with clarity this morning as the sun gave my window a welcome glow.
I slept well and there was a redemptive arc forming in the story I’ve been telling myself.
I discovered more beauty in the words of others.
Words prompted by my IG question:
“You know what keeps me coming back? Your honesty! I enjoyed our brief talk at the She Speaks conference this summer. You have a very open and transparent way that makes it easy to relate and connect with you! I enjoy seeing the artwork (all different kinds) but I’m not a passionate lover of art. As someone who is struggling to find my own way in my own areas, I can however relate to the highs and lows that you openly share! I followed then out of curiosity about the work which you spoke about, but now I follow because I’ve really enjoyed seeing the winding road that is your journey. It is interesting to see your processes. As well as where the Lord might be moving in you next.”
Other comments were just as kind. An equal mix of people who like the mix of subjects I paint.
Interesting, so very.
The landscapes were referred to as “soulscapes”.
One comment suggested whatever I paint, continue to paint from the soul of me.
A couple more commented on the honesty in my sharing of my honest thoughts stemming from times I hear from God.
So Blue
Yesterday, I saw a friend at church, a fairly new one. We connected and hugged and she paused mid-sentence.
“Your eyes are so blue.” She said sweetly.
I smiled, told her I used to believe that, adding it’s been a while since I loved the blue.
She smiled.
I painted into the hours of dusk. A piece I put to the side, entitled “The Offering” was lacking a story I noticed.
It was dull.
I changed the position and posture of the figure, had her cradle the vase more gently and on a whim, her gown went from ivory to blue.
More confident and still quiet.
Still herself despite the critics or the questions of her own.
Strangely, I’ve never given the name “Quiet Confidence” to a painting.
She may be the one.
And while he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he was reclining at table, a woman came with an alabaster flask of ointment of pure nard, very costly, and she broke the flask and poured it over his head. There were some who said to themselves indignantly, “Why was the ointment wasted like that? For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii and given to the poor.”
And they scolded her.
For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you want, you can do good for them. But you will not always have me.
She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for burial. And truly, I say to you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world,
what she has done will be told in memory of her.” Mark 14:3-5, 7-9 ESV
Maybe…no, surely that’s a word for us all.
Do confidently what you can. These choices and gifts will be told in memory of you.
And now, about the possible change. I’m motivated to write with more intention. I’ve gotten a bit lazy in all things purposeful as far as writing.
I’d love to have a more thoughtful and strategic way of connecting with those who relate to my voice, my story, my content.
Writing or blogging friends…thinking of moving my writing from WordPress to Substack. Any advice or experience? Also, has anyone saved their WordPress blogposts as a document to keep or possibly use for future publishing?
I need to make a choice very soon…renew here or start new on Substack.
“I sense God bringing a truth to me, a reminder or a nudge to consider the value of just a few words, often the words of Jesus and I just decide to share them, thinking someone else may need them too.”
This is my response when someone tells me my honest reflection or interpretation of scripture was timely for them.
Often, it is surprising.
“Go in Peace” feels like a gentle well wish, a suggestion or saying.
But it’s more like a commandment.
You came, you believed, you sought healing, you were healed.
You are healed.
Go in Peace.
To purchase this calendar dedicated to my granddaughters and every woman created to live freely in the embrace of God, to go in peace, click the link below.
I barely missed a couple of deer. Now that morning is coming sooner, I was less observant, less cautious.
Less expectant.
The couple ran together to my left in the harvested corn field. Flying through the air it seemed.
Yes, like dusty brown doves, not deer.
When the timing was right, they danced over the road in front of me just as the curve turned right to my daughter’s home.
Then, I watched expectantly for them to run back the other way, to cross the lane to the more wooded field.
But, they didn’t. They must’ve decided to continue to a better place, maybe one that felt safer.
Possibly down in the corner, the valley near the creek.
The spot I’ve set my gaze on from the kitchen window.
The place where just one tall tree in the mix of many beckons me to be still.
To notice the vivid gold.
When I understand the meaning of hope without knowing, simply hoping.
I can live expectantly.
Not expectant of celebratory good nor of sorrowful negative or even tragic.
I can understand hope as being a promise that will be kept because the Spirit of God knows.
Knows my longings. Knows me.
Knows all.
“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.
For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.
And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called
according to his purpose.” Romans 8:25-28 ESV
Often, I’ve remembered the words that instruct, that compel me to believe that no matter what, God brings good from all circumstances.
I’m afraid I’ve embraced this as a sort of consolation prize, a fourth runner up in a pageant who gets no crown or announcement.
A decision that all is always well for others, just not for me.
But, that’s so very distant from the truth.
The truth is, I just do not know it all, all the secrets I’ve been shielded from, all the recalculating of my directions and choices simply because that accurate and oh so loving Spirit inside me
Has said, this is the way.
It may seem wrong or not for you.
It may resemble hurt.
But, keep going.
Keep being you listening to me.
Keep being surprised by me.
In progress, I have 22 paintings commissioned that will be gifted to women, a reminder to me of something I never set out to do.
In 2015, I was given a Bible at Christmas. It was designed with space for thoughts and color in the margin.
This Bible began my journey into being an artist and it started with women from the passages who felt like women like me.
Sketches, simply sketches.
It’s now falling apart, the pages are more thin than makes sense. I should, I suppose put it away for safekeeping, stop using it.
This Bible led to painting angels for people who were grieving or needed encouragement and then to painting other subjects.
Not angels, but landscapes, abstracts, animals and trees.
And figuratively strong women standing, leaning, postured in a position that conveys battles won, grace remembered and mostly, I hope,
A decision to live with expectant hope.
To hope.
Their gazes fixed on hope.
Hope we can’t see; but, fully known because of God’s Spirit in us.
And along with all the nudges and the pauses.
The changes and questions.
I’m seeing the purpose of the visible pain and the invisible questions I’ve carried.
I’m finding my way to be guided by hope and endurance rather than questions of why and a constant looking back to a decision (even if feeble) to live “now” not then.
Knowing I have no idea what is coming only that what comes to me through my Father is always good.
Always has purpose.
We’ve come a far distance, those of us harmed by the uncertainties over why it seemed life chose to hurt us.
Before bed, I read a verse about being cared for. I read that the shepherd takes care of his sheep overnight. Sheep don’t have to worry about being fed, of waking rested and ready.
I woke too early on an “off” and open day. The moment I sat with coffee, a thought came.
I’ll share it here as the “good thing” today.
Morning Thoughts
“What are you building and why when I’ve already established your dwelling place?”
I wrote underneath 10/26/23 and my children’s names in a thick circle, is this question.
I pause to consider why, I question the significance of “dwelling” and I imagine eye rolls and even laughter over the “depth of me”.
The more I thought of this question God gave me, I compared this world we live in, these lives we lead of striving and comparing ourselves just to stay “caught up”.
We don’t have to build ourselves up.
We may topple under the weight of the hurried addition to our first or second floor. We neglect the foundation and we envision mansions that represent our lives, when we’d be better as a quaint little three bedroom with a porch.
After all the building for appearance and to comfort ourselves in being enough, we just might find we don’t want to live here anymore, it’s just too much.
And that’s good
That’s a kindness of God to be shown that you are enough, more than and that although you feel worn thin and the structure of the dwelling of you is feeble and tired, there’s still a little corner that’s waiting for you to find yourself acknowledging the exhaustion.
You matter.
The condition of your body and soul, the place where God dwells even when we can’t find Him in the clutter.
Surprisingly, that’s a sweet place, the most beautiful place you’ve known all along.
Maybe, its name is acceptance.
I think so.
God gave me this today. He wants us both to know. We are enough in our dwelling with Him, we don’t have to wear ourselves out in building, renovating or leveling ourselves in destructive manners because we don’t think our “dwelling” measures up.
God has more than we can fathom in the place of us He long ago established.
“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” Isaiah 45:3 NIV
It’s helps that it’s catchy, the wise words for remembering.
Listen, Lisa
Works I Love
I stepped lightly to assess where I may have gone wrong, rushed to edit, didn’t leave “well enough for now and maybe always” alone.
Now, I see.
I should’ve listened to that pull, the voice that said.
This is you.
This is good. Let it rest. Let it be.
There’s no need for a rush to redo. There is no expectation for anything other than that you listened.
Listened attentively.
Listened with no plan of action or scheme.
Listened for the opening that never comes like a bursting, more like an invitation.
Listen and learn.
Contribute to the redemption of where your listen wasn’t necessary at all or steered you wrong.
Remembering, you can’t hear the gentle tone of directions spoken if you’re thinking you got it on your own.
Listen and then, welcome your role in the redemption that made a mess and muddied your message.
Always a good one, led by patience and surrender.
“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” Isaiah 64:4 ESV
My talents as a cook are hit or miss. I’m not a follower of recipes and so, sometimes what I think might be a good combination is actually not.
My husband will comment, “That was good, can you remember how you made it?”
I smile to myself, knowing only a few dishes are close to guaranteed goodness.
Spaghetti is one, quiche another.
Spinach and Sausage Quiche
Warm and cheesy.
Delicious before I begin today’s list of promised art things, some a tiny bit anxiety causing.
You can do hard things, Lisa.
It’s gonna be alright. You just enjoyed breakfast with extra cheesy creamy goodness and allowed yourself the nutrition, the comfort. You’re not consumed by your consumption.
You’re gonna be alright.
In quietness and confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15 NLT
(Today is processing calendar orders day. You can visit my website and click on the “Smaller Things” page to order one or a few and their on sale through October.)
Most of my life I’ve been nurtured by the pencil in hand, a piece of paper, a margin that invites.
Art sustains me.
A wise Dr. and author, Curt Thompson reminds often of attachment that we as children needed to be “seen, safe, soothed and secure” and that need is innate. We will always be in pursuit.
Embraced By Grace
Interestingly, adding color to paper and hinting at an emotion are when I feel these needs are known most and met.
How about you?
Is it art?
Music?
Prayer?
or something else.
I hope you know this “withness with God” often.
You are loved.
Even if the child in you lacked one of the “s”’s.
She’s still there, self-aware, surrendered and seeking solace in the sweet places she’s found herself
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 