birds

31 days of good things

Angels, birds, bravery, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, happy, hope, Peace, praise, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wonder, worship

Day 13 – Geese and Scones

Talk is swirling, bad things are coming, violence and threats and better be prepared warnings.

Friday the 13th. A day I used to dread for other reasons, a few of them evidence of crises that in looking back weren’t just on a day with a horror movie predictability.

Horrible things don’t only happen on days called 13.

So, I avoid the warnings.

I pay attention to other occurrences.

The geese just flew over. My mind went to my mama’s voice, no more and no less than a simple acknowledgement to me as a girl and later my children,

“Here they come.”

So, day 13 of the 31 days of taking account of good things is celebrated not with an egg, no bread. Instead, a cranberry orange scone, buttery.

Yesterday, I listened to a conversation about worship music, more about worship than songs.

I learned that worship is not me standing side by side in an auditorium with a stage lit by changing colored lights.

Worship is not necessarily outward celebratory gratitude or praise.

It can be quite the opposite.

Worship is the tears that come when someone shared a kindness or the tears that come when someone is honest about their fears and their eyes begin to glisten, a mirror of mine.

Worship is me sitting in my mamas chair and honoring her and my God by settling my self for barely a few seconds to simply listen.

The geese noticed.

Noticing God.

And worship is me opening my hand, always the right one and saying countless times a day,

I surrender all and all is well.

And worship is the allowance of good things, rather than constant critical condemnation.

A cranberry orange scone for breakfast.

How will you worship in small ways today?

Yesterday, I was surprised by generosity. Someone purchasing art as gifts for others.

Twice in a day this happened.

I gave the giver of gifts a hug, got in my car and she in hers and I sat for a second and I smiled and shook my head in a questioning of such goodness kind of way.

And I said tenderly in a worshipful whisper,

“What a day, all this goodness, thank you, thank you God.

Once again, you’ve surprised me, wow.”

Continue and believe.

“So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.”
‭‭1 John‬ ‭4‬:‭16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God is near. He knows you so very well.

God is good.

May you fully know this.

31 days of good

birds, bravery, contentment, Faith, grace, mercy, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wonder

Day 4 – grace

I woke this morning with a nudge, actually a shameful shove. Maybe only I’d know it.

Words shared were hard, a hint of judgment.

So, I asked for mercy, for any damage to be undone and I went on in to the morning.

Saw a sparrow in a flash of flight on the porch, a morning glory vine with only one bloom, and a glimmer of light through a spot in the brush.

And I decided to give myself grace.

To filter future thoughts the best I can through a measure and pause…

Offer hope, don’t harbor wrong.

I am strong because grace is strong, I am steady in the embrace of grace.

Grace, the timidity of its tone, an invitation to live gently, privately strong. No need for notice, trophy or display of said strength.

Go quietly with grace.

Looking Intently

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, Forgiveness, Holy Spirit, kindness, memoir, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

I stood still to find it again and then the bird perched in boldness and just waited on the top of the tomato cage. Its belly was brilliant, glistened like silk. It seemed untouched, unmarred, original and articulately designed.

At first, I thought “a tomato already?”. A brilliant spot of red amongst the lush green growth of vine.

You are loved by God.

Two pages of my journal are covered in words in reply to the question, how does God see me?

I finished Henri Nouwen’s “The Return of the Prodigal Son”. There are multiple asterisks in the margins and many underlines.

I paused here yesterday. Read and reread about A First and Everlasting Love.

“For a very long time I considered low self-esteem to be some kind of virtue. I had been warned so often about pride and conceit that I came to consider it a good thing to deprecate myself.” Henri Nouwen

Nouwen reminds of Psalm 139, that before we opened our eyes to life, God had brilliant plans already decided in the way He made us.

Often, I think of the beauty of being wonderfully made and not so much the “fearfully” part. What does it mean to us that we are made “fearfully”.

I would say it means “well-made”, not haphazardly, not without intention and plan, well-thought, very, very distinct and worthwhile.

So, I continue to return to the truth for me and for you.

We are valuable according to God and that value doesn’t change according to the limitations I know like fear, self-destructive patterns, lack of confidence and/or lack of the notice of others.

This is the “footprint” I want to leave here when I’m gone.

Your value is not determined by what has happened to you or what you hoped would and did not.

Your value is according to God. He fearfully planned it for you to discover just how “wonderful” you are.

Your value is not determined by the plans of God that got trampled by malice, meanness or evil decisions of another.

Your value remains untainted, to be discovered with sweet and steady intention…you keep going towards it.

Continue and believe.

“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭139‬:‭14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Think of Others

birds, bravery, contentment, curiousity, family, hope, memoir, Peace, Redemption, wisdom, wonder
Blackbird and Vine

Think of others today, not peers, competing or measuring up comparatively people.

Sort of an exercise in out of the norm noticing or remembering.

Do you ever think about your grandma, your great-grandma, the legacy of their strengths and stories? The untold struggles, the pains they learned to comfort in their own quiet and unique ways?

I have an image of my grandmother all layered down in blankets, lamplight to the right, Bible in her lap, a pen for cursive notes in the margin.

On her screen porch, looking towards the crops, the winding path to Aunt Marie’s.

Looking for light, was she okay?

Had she gone to bed?

I walked out in the rain to see the bloom on my mystery vine and thought how very simple a joy!

What images make you smile, bring joy that doesn’t require scrolling, effort or comparison?

Think of others today.

I’m a fan of 3 word reminders.

Do hard things. Ask for help.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

“Pass and re-pass.” my grandmother

Think of others.

Especially those gone on.

Powerful Things

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, birds, contentment, courage, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mixed media painting, obedience, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

I did the most silly, most powerful thing the other day. I changed the description in my Pinterest profile back to what it was originally.

Powerful? Silly? Yes, both. I edited the words characterizing me as an author and artist and I went back to the grander aspiration.

Hope.

Works on Paper

Lisa Anne Tindal, artist returned to “Artist and writer longing for a little white house near the ocean.”

Longings leading my heart back to me.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭16:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

“Come back, daughter.” my Heavenly Father keeps saying to me.

My Notes app became my diary at the beach, a call to smaller, more lasting things.

Nothing aspirational only thoughts of those around me, my line of thinking, line of prayer meandered from galleries, Italian art tours, and pricing my art in a way that measures its worth not just a sale.

We walked down the quiet street and discovered a white heron, gracious in its stance. The creek was quiet, the bird shaded and shielded by old overgrown cedar limbs as I knelt with a three year old resting against my chest.

I told her I was so happy for this gift, this peace today in a white elegant bird.

So, my prayer because God hears them. If possible and good for us, I’d love to have a seaside house for those I love to gather.

To gather again.

To search for the white bird daily.

White Bird

To paint on paper bags, be surprised by God again, to be visited by birds and song.

Aspirations so small and mighty.

So settled, not seeking.

So confident of my heart’s desires being known by my very kind Father.

Last weekend, I responded to the question of when I became an artist with the truth of flunking out of college, losing my art scholarship because of hard things and harm and then working hard as a helper of families before, in my 50’s, coming back to art.

There’s truth there, but even more in the realization,

I’ve always been an artist in the very same way I was told “You’ve always been brave.”

Paper Bag Works

I did a powerful silly thing. I changed my Pinterest bio back to the true, although dreamy thing.

To be an artist with a little white house near the ocean.

To gather. To paint.

To search for the white bird with my family.

“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭30:15‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Looking For Day

anxiety, beach, birds, contentment, courage, family, hope, Peace, Prayer, rest, Stillness, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Windows without screens were raised in the dark. No breeze through the night, only murmurs of others and the occasional firefly spark.

Someone had an accident, downed a power pole they say fueled the entire island.

Streets welcomed walkers, children giggled and competed on their bicycles. We joined the porch sitters who hoped it wouldn’t take long.

All night long was powerless, no covers, nothing but time for intermittent prayers and mind wondering worries, sleeping in our undies with the door open.

Morning began with the chatter of insects, birds, other sounds I had no idea signaled the morning to wake up.

I tiptoed through the beach house and decided to go, to go find the new day, the sea and birds.

And they came and kept coming, their flight like a dance and a song.

God’s hands on the harp, the long and low strokes causing melody and chorus.

Rhythm.

The lifting of the wings, the beaks straight and strong, the dipping down and the floating back up

Crescendo.

And I, with no charge on my phone for more photos, making it 10,001.

But, these and this came before

Saying, sit and rest.

The show is not yet done.

The morning after the blackout night, windows open and a mind that refused to be quiet.

The electricity returned before morning and rather than sleep I went looking for God, looking for day.

I believe I will again tomorrow.

Sit in the awe and wonder, listen to God.

“In the morning, Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait expectantly.”
‭‭Psalm ‬ ‭5:3‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Tiny Seeds

Art, birds, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, Peace, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing
Blooming Again

The morning is grey with a veil of warmth shielding the pines across the way.

My grey cat is missing, meanwhile a pretty black one with a flash of white on its chest is slowly deciding I’m friendly.

But, I’m hoping for mine, the kitten I named “Georgia”.

I am waiting for the amaryllis forgotten and found to be vibrant again.

I’m waiting with sweetly surprised expectation, the Christmas of 2020 bulb potted and forgotten is now fat with rebirth.

Pray, trust, wait.

Despite the warning of afternoon tumultuous thunder, the choir of birds are singing a sort of suggestion just for now,

Lisa, this is heavenly.

So, I listen.

I’ll return to my place of painting and wait for my visitor, a mourning dove who danced for me yesterday.

Softly, it stayed longer than I’d have expected.

Strong in its message to me, a message of peace is what I took it to be because of its color, a blue grey white blend, acrylic mixture for the sky I may paint.

Hoping my landscape says “peace”.

Because of its visit, the surprise of its lingering

Then the cardinal, brick-colored breast, careening alongside longer than usual and I noticed God,

“Mama.” I thought and “it is well”.

Keep trusting. Keep waiting.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 13 suggests the same.

A parable about a fig tree about to be uprooted, tossed away because of its fruitless condition and then the one about the mustard seed. Luke shared the story Jesus used to help us understand that growth that starts small can become immeasurably large by trust and faith.

Persistence, a peaceful persistence.

Private maybe.

Two trees, a barren fig tree and one that grew so beautifully that birds built nests and started families there.

“He said therefore, “What is the kingdom of God like? And to what shall I compare it? It is like a grain of mustard seed that a man took and sowed in his garden, and it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air made nests in its branches.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭13:18-19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The kingdom of God is here. It is us, all of us seeds of its faithful and kind growth.

A woman bent over for eighteen years because of “disability of spirit”, Luke shared her encounter with Jesus in the middle of the two parables.

I love the placement, it makes faith even more a promised instrument for change.

Jesus, the bringer of change broke the rules and healed this woman on the Sabbath.

“When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said to her, “Woman, you are freed from your disability.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭13:12‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m fascinated by this healing.

Eighteen years of her life, this broken spirited woman walked bent by her load, face to the ground.

She was healed immediately and glorified God, according to scripture.

I wonder how.

Was she a seamstress?

Maybe a writer, maybe a helper of others, maybe she was simply a teller of her story.

I’d love to know if she worked with her hands, strangely, I believe so.

I guess because of the resonance for me of her healing.

She’s relatable. I want to believe she’s like me and I, like her.

Yesterday, I edited a painting I felt was contrived. Calm came as I changed what was finished, but after all, not.

“Spring” became “Birdsong”.

“Birdsong”

Like a seed of faith, a barren tree, a discarded and forgotten amaryllis bulb, and a woman disabled by a spirit that told her she was unable for eighteen years

We can grow, there’s planting, reviving, unearthing and thriving in every single soul.

Pray, trust, wait.

Participate in God’s healing.

“As he said these things, all his adversaries were put to shame, and all the people rejoiced at all the glorious things that were done by him.”
‭‭Luke‬ ‭13:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Unearth what you buried or locked away.

Contribute your tiny nourished seed today.

Continue and believe.

“Birdsong” is available here: https://www.lisaannetindal.me/new-products/8fhgfywxizgjv7e4sxv8zkvwoj85qo

With A Song

birds, Children, confidence, contentment, coronavirus, courage, curiousity, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Peace, praise, Redemption, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, wonder

“And Job died, an old man, and full of days.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭42:17‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The dark age spot on my right cheek has garnered by granddaughter’s attention. She’s announced to her mama that I need to see her doctor.

She’s reached the age of noticing, good things, flaws and unspoken thoughts too.

Last week, I saw a little boy I first met in 2019. He remembered me. He announced to his mama, big sister and me, “She looks older!”

We laughed at his precocious behavior and I came back with “Well, I’ve been through some stuff…you know…Covid!”

Then we all just nodded towards one another and got back to the reason I was there, a family adopting this sweet and observant sibling.

A trip through my phone’s photos confirmed my aging. But, also how the world gone awry because of pandemic changed other things too.

Try it.

Look back, see if your face and others’ seemed to see things differently back then.

2017, 2018 and ‘19 early.

Less vacant expressions as now, less steely clinched jaws in posing, less uncertainty in linking arms in photos and less open and freely given embraces.

More hesitance, more lost eyes seeking something, what…

Who knows?

Less of need to tout your faith that was bigger than fear. More sure of sure footing and solid faith.

So much more sure, it was less necessary to announce it. I suppose I should say what’s clear, these words are realizations of myself.

Someone will know maybe upon reading this. Was Job sitting in a pile of sorrowful ash-covered questions the entire book of the Bible marked by his name?

Job, a man who honored God was the chosen soldier of faith to see if he’d surrender the battle or hold on unwaveringly to his relationship with Holy God and faith.

Stricken by the trial and test, his life gone awry.

His wife told him give up and die; his friends hung with him for a bit until saying clearly it’s you that’s wrong.

“And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭2:13‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I wonder if he just kept sitting, unable to stand when his friends became devoid of empathy, questioned his plight.

“But now it has come to you, and you are impatient; it touches you, and you are dismayed. Is not your fear of God your confidence, and the integrity of your ways your hope?”
‭‭Job‬ ‭4:5-6‬ ‭ESV

Monday was a dark blue day, I named it. By evening the blue lifted.

Tuesday, before breakfast, we baked a promised cherry pie and then “skipped to my Lou my darlin’” together.

Something’s happening, last month it was chocolate meringue. Little things, joyously small, sweeter than the cliche’, I’m doing them, I’ve decided.

Baby steps towards allowing joy, being less afraid something or some world event will snatch it away.

My wondering over the trials of Job came as we set out barefooted. The ground was cool and my granddaughter ran way ahead, stopping here and there to gather sticks.

I’m a lover of his story, longing to understand more is the pull of me towards my Bible. I’ll not find details of when he found the strength to stand up, but I can still wonder and I can allow his struggle and recovery to help me recover.

How long was his lamenting conversation with God and was his rising again gradual or all of a sudden…were his feet weak and prone to wobbling or was his recovery smooth and sudden?

I told my cousin yesterday, I feel like we’re all in recovery and we’re apt to slip ups, prone to dismay. We need to say so, if just to ourselves and wait, watch and know the fog will lift, we will see clearly how to walk again.

I’m growing, but not fully grown. I’m walking with strong stride and steady steps, but still not able to walk on my own.

We wound our soft sticks together into an oval, twisted the knotty vines and tangled branches. I carried hers and she, mine.

Laid them on the counter among the flattened wildflowers from our pockets and we drank lemonade on the porch steps together.

Singing a silly sweet song and talking to the crows

This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through and you belong among the wildflowers, Lou, Lou skip to my Lou

became our Tuesday song.

“I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”
‭‭Job‬ ‭42:2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Sing your song. Walk on.

Such a Love, Pristine

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, birds, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, happy, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Salvation, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, walking, wonder, writing

I found two feathers walking yesterday and then a third. The first pair were mostly grey and I held tightly to them as I walked. No pockets in my clothes, I held on, clutching them gently. I rounded the corner to the steep hill and decided to drop them, said a prayer of 3 words, “art and writing” and walked on.

Walking on as I decided against more hills, I let my feet take me towards home. I glanced down in the grassy border and spotted the third feather, a white one. Pristine and soft as velvet, I gathered it up. It was pure and undamaged in a way I’d never seen. I walked on home with great wonder over the assurance that my 3 word prayer had been heard.

I added the feather to my collection, cherishing the words of victory and the promises of Jesus.

Shortly after, a friend I hadn’t spoken to in many months called to say she had an opportunity for me to speak to a group of women in October. “Would I pray about it?” she asked. Two thoughts linger, there’s that open door and I am willing, not sure fully able, but willing. A third, October gives me even more time for courage, grace and healing, God’s wise provision.

“All who are victorious will be clothed in white. I will never erase their names from the Book of Life, but I will announce before my Father and his angels that they are mine.”
‭‭Revelation‬ ‭3:5‬ ‭NLT‬‬

What we see as too damaged or defeated in our hopes to keep moving forward, God sees as victory for us, a peaceful one.

I pray you keep pursuing this peace or that you seek it if you never have. I pray for you my prayer for me.

Lord, help me keep walking towards you, towards peace. Help me to remember I am yours.

Signs of Hope

Abuse Survivor, birds, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder
Hope is Near

Yesterday, on a fence by the country road, a white dove rested. I paused, but kept driving. I questioned my vision, was it really a dove or was I just hoping?

If I turned back would it still be sitting quietly, would the plump bird with the settled stance be waiting just for me?

How sweet a gift that would be.

Or not?

Later sparrows scattered away from the oak as my steps must’ve startled and a velvet red cardinal danced in a one, two…three trees step.

Bluebirds flew too, in the place on the path that’s most private.

“Blue’s your favorite color, Grandma.” Elizabeth, only 2.

Is God really near or am I just hoping?

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me. Emily Dickinson

I hope so.

Continue and believe.