We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 2 Corinthians 4:8 NIV
I reached down to be sure what his little hand clutched. A tiny pebble under close inspection before he stood and let it go, flinging it with strong conviction into the wide grey sky.
We began our walk hoping to miss the rain.
We did.
The trail is new. The path is hilly but smooth, a firebreak for the wide field of brush and trees.
I had a sense I’d been trying to shake all morning, a feeling that even though all was okay, I better be ready for the day to change, for something to go the other way.
I’m writing less about my trauma, a blend of keeping quiet and of looking more closely at wounds than ever before.
Like a little boy inspecting a pebble or stick, I’ve been quietly inspecting the hurts I’ve known in a much more intentional way.
With brave curiosity and braver acceptance…stages of grief.
So, that ache of readying to be ready for something bad is familiar and not at all friendly.
We walked and held hands and watched from a distance
Until the gift of freedom and hope ignited the sweet “setting out” on his own steps of my grandson.
And the weight of worry began to lift.
And I breathed deeply.
Looked around.
Looked up.
Prayed silently.
Added music to our walk.
Reached down with curiosity to touch a mottled leaf to discover the other side, rich in the color of fresh blood, of wine, vibrant.
I slipped it in my pocket, little “H” reached for me, both arms up and I responded as we turned for home.
Sensing the comfort of God, the assurance my fears and protective patterns are not hidden, are well known
And nurtured by God in a way that no longer leads to shame.
My vulnerabilities with God are no longer perceived fodder for Him to refute my faith.
Instead, an invitation to grace and bravery
mercy extended to me by myself.
“Grandma day” mornings begin early. My quiet time is brief and blurry.
I opened my journal to jot February 28, 2024 to discover one sentence from yesterday.
“Jesus, help me to see you today.”
Knowing, suddenly He had.
He did.
The color red, the deep crimson colored leaf like aged wine had been poured for me, left in the dirt, on a long ago fallen leaf, a cup with just a sip waiting for me to drink.
I’d been asking to see color.
Yesterday, the request was different and the answer was love.
”Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.“ Jude 1:2 NIV
“So now we draw near freely and boldly to where grace is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace we urgently need to strengthen us in our time of weakness.” Hebrews 4:16 TPT
When we wake with the woe of what was imperfect the day before or with what we tripped and fell over in our wayward walking, we can acknowledge it all. We can feel all the feelings.
We can accept the mercy of Jesus, reach up and stand to go on the way again, the way to freedom, freedom that waits to save us from ourselves again.
Waiting
We can acknowledge that if it were just ourselves trying to recover, without the knowledge and embrace of His incomprehensible love, we’d not be who we are today.
I might not be here at all.
The smallest amount of believing in the promise of God’s love and mercy leads to overcoming life’s troubles, failures, and sorrows just as much as it does for the one who has never doubted at all.
Mercy meets us where we are.
The Veil
The ones at “the bottom” they’ve hit are just as cared for and cherished, significant in God’s eyes as those who’ve never known “bottom” experiences at all.
Can hardship, shame or regret be good for our souls?
Maybe, if we handle them gingerly like tiny little jewels worth sitting with and quietly considering the value of them in the exchange for the mercy that’s waiting there.
Waiting, always for our timid and tender open minds
Open hearts.
Open hands.
“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16 ESV
This morning, the 2024 Winter Launch of The Scouted Studio is available! The Scouted Studio
Search for me by “Search by Artist” or enjoy them all.
Beautiful art, creative and diverse artists are contributing.
Initially, my pieces were my trademark dark background, a bold color called “Payne’s Grey”. I struggled. The deadline was looming. I didn’t have peace and I did not feel hopeful as I sat sort of worried about what to do.
I listened to my intuition, my gut, the Holy Spirit and with many layers and small edits, the backgrounds became more pure, a soft ivory with hints of shadowy blues, a hint of a torn piece of paper from a Bible, the word “hope” in every hem…hidden.
Hope is hidden in each of us.
Another of the Twelve
This morning, I woke questioning whether I’d made a good decision for an upcoming art event or whether I had jumped too soon, chasing worthiness.
Four things happened.
I woke to a song’s lyrics’ “you’re not finished with me yet.”, the sunrise through the gauzy drapes, Psalm 119 in a memory telling me God is good, and another thought, “you make all things new.”
“Your extravagant kindness to me makes me want to follow your words even more! Teach me how to make good decisions, and give me revelation-light, for I believe in your commands. Before I was humbled I used to always wander astray, but now I see the wisdom of your words. Everything you do is beautiful, flowing from your goodness; teach me the power of your wonderful words!“
Psalms 119:65-68 TPT
Then I created a cyclical graph to help it stick, the process for doing new things, things that may seem too scary, too uncomfortable or “too late” for you.
How to Do New Things
I’m certain this process is not just for artists. I hope it may help you. Feel free to keep it, share it, circle back when you need a reset.
On Sunday, a sunny day, my granddaughter and I spread out paper, scissors and ModPodge on a towel. We tore pieces of abstract paintings I loved but had not bought by someone or maybe I’d forgotten I loved them.
We used little strips and squares of color to tell new stories. To allow a new voice to be heard.
Keep living, keep learning.
How God speaks is another mystery that woke me on Monday in the dark, a nagging lack because of hearing others say “God told me.” or “I heard God speak”.
I’ve not experienced God in an audible way.
I’ve heard stories that blow my mind of people who’ve been in situations in need of hope or redirection and God spoke. I’ve read and heard He “speaks” through His Word, both gently and firmly instructive.
I’ve heard about the still and quiet voice that comes and I believe I understand this one well
Me being quiet with no searching for an answer and a thought comes…
Comes in reply to a question that’s been nagging at me.
Once, that voice whispered in my the hallows of my chest…
“It’s gonna be alright.” and the rightness of every worry in my life felt captured in that comfort of a promise. It was a strong promise. I still treasure it.
I smile over it.
This morning, words came and to sum it all up, the words were
“Just keep learning.”
An encounter with a woman I knew from my executive days planted the seed from which this desire has begun slowly growing.
She noticed my artwork and then as she passed through the crowd to leave, said across the room…
“I just read your story.”
I was confused. How did she read the “Artist Story” I sometimes point to when people ask, “How’d you become an artist?”
Later, I realized she’d only read the sweet story of the “cake with you Mama day”.
And, I realized slowly, I was happy that’s the only story she’d read.
This morning, I thought, sensed the coming together of thoughts and God speaking…
It’s been enough time now, enough time has passed.
The story of how you “came back to painting” no longer needs to include the hard and horrible parts.
You’ve grown to dislike the telling of this story.
Instead, when asked, the answer could be…
I’ve been painting seriously about seven years and I keep growing and trying to make good choices.
I keep learning
And I am a student of that desire to keep learning. I have grown.
I am still growing. And that’s the only requirement that is given to me by myself…to be me as artist, writer, mother, wife, grandmother or friend…follower of Jesus.
To be brave enough
To keep learning.
(It may be time to add a chapter or replace the old one altogether, at least edit it with a pen called kindness.)
It may be time to “turn the page” to the beauty of my story with only a tiny nod to the ugly.
It may be time to stop circling back to the places you struggled, the places you failed and fell.
It may be time to say less.
It may be time to edit your story of whatever you’ve taken on as a measure of you finally not just battling in becoming
But arriving.
Motherhood Author Teacher Settled Career Wife Friend Ministry Leader Artist Chef Athlete
Nurse Husband Girlfriend Boyfriend Instructor of Others
Retiree simply “being a light” Aunt Uncle Counselor Advocate
Son
Musician Sharer of your life with others
Daughter
Student of whatever
You are arriving,
you can take a breath.
The only requirement God has is A decision to keep learning.
To imperfectly decide
not to give up.
And to do so with love.
“…It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously.”
It’s the time of year that God allows a sprinkling here and there of soft green woven “pillows”. I know there’s a name for them. I can’t remember it. I just find them so pretty. I tiptoe around them, aware of what I see as fragility.
We walked carefully over the tangled vines and fallen branches. Toddler, Henry in his little boots smaller than my hand. I let him venture barely three steps away from me then wrapped him in my arms to be sure he didn’t high tail it to the place his curiosity was calling.
I heard the water, the creek too shielded by overgrowth to see and too uncertain for us to go seeking. So, we just circled round and round, he intent on going deeper in and me, scooping him up to walk where it was more safe and clear.
He resisted yielding again and again.
The unknown and interesting was a steady call to his little investigative mind.
As if to say, I need to know, I need to see, it must be really special, this place I can’t see, these things I don’t yet know.
Yet, it was too risky for us to go, too unsafe for him to go alone.
I wonder why there’s such resistance to yielding. Why I’m so prone to striking out on my own in fits of figure it out or fix it before it’s too late.
When all that’s required, all that’s an absolute undeserved gift,
Is to yield.
This morning, I flipped to today in “Jesus Calling”, a kind and beautifully patient collection of words I’ll carry as I go, one open hand to heaven and the other secretly imagining my hand like a child’s reaching up again to the suggestion of my Savior,
“Hold my hand.”
“As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.”
I woke from a crazy vivid dream about being on the brink of my “dream job”. I would be partnering with a wise and super professional in every way woman, to be involved in some way with the Atlanta Braves. I was one final interview from the job and from moving to Atlanta G-A!
Now, I sit in the too cold for Carolina weather wrapped in a blanket and pajamas so thick you’d wonder if there’s a body in there.
In my dream, I was escorted by this close to perfection in appearance writer and coordinator of “human interest” activities for the baseball players.
They liked me, were excited. I was “in”.
My mama was there…I introduced her to “Miss Everything” with “this is Bette”.
There were other parts of the dream that were intensely telling. No surprise, I was lost in Atlanta, it was pouring down rain and I was driving in a panic and in the wrong direction on the interstate that would take me to the interstate back home.
I wanted to go home and I would tell “Miss Everything” by phone if I could find my way back to there.
In my dream, I found all sorts of things in my purse, one was a check I’d forgotten about.
Although the amount was only five figures including the two behind the decimal, it was enough.
There are many parts of my life buried deep, many aspirational paths away from who my life has made me.
There are crazy dangerous can’t find my way in the storm scary roads. There are dark ones. There are exciting ones. There are wounds from of all the wounding.
There are bravery required ones.
And who’s to say how bravery is defined?
What God has decided is your treasure and what your legacy will decide unbeknownst to you…for others to say “this was her treasure”.
“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Luke 12:34 NIV
I’ve been reading a variety of memoirs. No secret, I’ve had a long held goal/hope/calling to write my story.
So, I’ve been reading to learn, to learn how the author will engage me in the hard story of their life with an equal measure of softness to get me to the part of it that was redeemed.
There are a handful I’ve shelved.
Call me critical, but I prefer ones the person writes themselves, not a ghost writer.
And books about trauma, abuse or addiction?
Well, there are two I’m grateful I was mature and wise enough to put down early.
I’m sorry to say one was Matthew Perry’s. I couldn’t endure the hardness of him to discover the soft place he eventually found.
I do have favorites and I’ve just downloaded a fourth. I’m not a book critic, so I’ll keep that to myself except to say I was surprised by the authors’ ability to detail their horror without causing fear in me.
This is what I needed, what I believe readers need.
To tell their stories in a way that didn’t cause me harm emotionally. These books are and were gifts. They’ll remain with me.
I see the search that didn’t quit in them to find the quiet treasured pearl in the turmoil and torment of their wounded lives.
Hard to believe, but they found a way to shine.
“I will when I can.” I have pencilled in the back of my Bible. It’s a response to a counselor’s question long ago.
“When do you think you will be able
to write it?”
And my answer, I’ll bravely share…
“When I no longer need to be noticed, when I decide it’s okay to forget.”
This post just got real brave, didn’t it?
My husband woke me from the Atlanta dream saying I’d been “yanking” the blanket.
I stilled myself, smiled in dawn of Thursday and remembered the last bit of the dream.
I found my way home.
My quiet life.
To continue and believe.
“Turn the page, Lisa Anne.” mama
“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Luke 12:7 NIV
You are loved.
Like a tiny sparrow flitting back across the cold blue sky to its nest.
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.
Yesterday, G’Pa announced to Elizabeth and I that he’d never seen the creek. The land is deep and wide around their home and down in the valley on the edge there’s a pretty little creek. I said “We should go see it” and then quickly G’Pa and I said no. It seemed risky I guess. It’d be a big production to get boots on, be sure the grandbabies could be carried safely and even more to remember exactly how to get there when I’d only been once.
Back then, I was fascinated by its beauty, this secret place worth pursuing.
But, we probably made the best choice, two sixty-something year olds striking out on an adventure with a four and one year old. We’ll go maybe with extra help to guide us soon. It’s not something we should do on our own.
Life has things for us to do, scary and uncertain, maybe little secrets that require bravery.
”Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.“ Isaiah 41:10 NLT
God woke me up with the thought of His Sovereignty, the reality that wherever I am,
He is too.
I put the thoughts together before daylight, remembering the idea of second children’s book about fear that I had kinda shelved away. It seems the idea might be calling my name to remember and revisit it.
With these new thoughts about walking into obscure and beautiful places even if scary:
I will go if you go. Through the brittle winter field
And into the forest Up the hill and down the
hill to the slippery spaces and up the hill again
Around the corner and careful
don’t step on the vines
with sticky sharp thorns and then the water round the corner will appear
Not so long ago, I wrote about “cardinal sightings”, a sign I decided, that God was in my very close vicinity and that he’d sent “someone” to tell me so.
Then time passed as time does and the red bird flashing before my eyes didn’t mean much at all.
Over time, the search stopped,
the fascination faded.
Red On My Walk
Monday after the family gathering a couple of hours away, I’d been thinking about the way things change.
My aunt and uncle (my remaining parental figures) are aging. There are noticeable changes.
There are reasons to accept.
It won’t always be this way.
I walked the Labrador today. I was in no hurry. The sun was warm, the shade was invigorating.
I let the dog drift from the trail to the grass.
I waited and then looked up to see the bird on the branches, a red one.
It lingered. It perched.
I paused to rejoice silently.
I came back home and worked on a painting, refreshed my son’s bedroom for when he visits with fresh sheets and comforter, fluffed the quilt and got the bed ready for his dog to stretch out.
The Labrador who’s staying with us, but not for too long. He’ll be back in Charlotte in a new quiet home very soon.
I thought of Christmas today, of Christmases of my childhood, Christmases of before.
I thought of how it’s a pattern of mine to anticipate the sameness and sadness of them.
And yet, if you made a bullet list of hard and good Christmases side by side, we’d both be surprised, maybe enlightened.
I don’t know why the emotions work this way, we hold the hard so tightly and we hold the sweet and beautiful as if it’s not important, as if it’s not a splendid gift, a time to treasure.
We look for the memorable and forget the moments.
We long for the same no matter its goodness and we resist the reality of every single breath alongside those we love that testifies to the truth,
It won’t be this way for long.
Oh my goodness, I saw my grandmother’s face on my aunt, the tiny little circles like apples on her cheeks as she smiled.
And she saw it too. It was the first time she noticed and now we all can’t not see it.
And I saw her face when she saw me, saw my children, their children and all of the others.
And it won’t always be this way.
We’re not predictors of time or change or good or hard.
I saw three cardinals, a flash of crimson through the window.
One lingered, dipping into the birdbath that belonged to my mama.
It was a day of unexpected sightings for what I’d not been seeking.
Isn’t that the way, the most beautiful way?
It won’t always be true.
But, some days it will.
And the worst of days no longer mark you because you pause to see the good have been better, the sweet has been sweeter and the expectations have been softened by the brave embrace of the comparison.
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 