My word for 2025 sort of lingered like a stranger at the door, uncertain of asking to be invited in. Initially I chose it in a conversation with an art curator. She’d been watching me from a distance. I initiated the messaging. I told her I hoped to develop a clear brand for my art. I used the word “polished”. She assured me that she felt my brand was clear. I suppose I didn’t believe her.
As the months progressed, I pondered the word and why it had chosen me, grabbed my attention.
Here at December’s end, I’ve been holding like a treasure next to my heart, what I’ve learned about my “2025 Word”.
I’ve been protected but I’ve also endured more than usual in terms of how my past trauma refused to be silenced.
Maybe it’s because I said “Yes” to doors that invited me to step forward, to share my artist story and how my trauma both inspires and sort of “dares me” to keep painting.
In many ways, I felt similar although not at all dangerous threats and betrayals. Maybe the old weapons that were still hanging on had to be smoothed down to the almost nothing left to defend against the wounds.
I found a verse a few months ago that helped me accept that being polished had nothing to do with my aesthetic and everything to do with my calling.
“He made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me away.”
Isaiah 49:2 ESV
All year long, I’ve been being readied for more than I ever felt possible. In the waiting, I’ve been protected.
I understand this now and that understanding has led to a word for 2026, “Embrace”.
It may change over the months but to me, it represents me no longer trying to resist the parts of me that are hard stories to acknowledge.
To embrace rather than the incessant need to have it all not be a part of me, to embrace every cell of my makeup as my identity rather than through every effort available to me, try and try to erase it.
To embrace what can’t be erased and to let those parts of my story lend themselves to my creativity, unhindered.
To embrace is to be at ease. To erase requires pressure.
To embrace welcomes change. To erase leaves no chance for redemption’s touch to be made visible.
To embrace is to honor every part. To erase is to abandon the muse, the stories that made me.
I’m unsure how this new mindset might challenge or grow me. I’m certain it won’t be a steady change. It’ll occur in increments.
Are there parts of your story you’re desperate to erase at last and be done?
Can you see yourself deciding to hold it all so very close, the hard and the soft, the ugly and the beautiful, the damage and the restored?
I iflipped the pages of my Bible this morning to find the page that was found to make sense of my 2025 word. I had chosen “polished” but not in the way I now see my choice was for. I had chosen the word because I wanted to do some fine tuning and revisions of me and my brand as an artist (and writer). I was hoping to draw the attention of galleries and collectors who it seemed did not find me worthy or “polished” enough.
What I began to see was that the word polished was never at all about polishing my image or my art. It was about readying me to be kept once polished and ready to be used, shot from the bow in God’s hand like an arrow.
he made me a polished arrow; in his quiver he hid me away. Isaiah 49:2
I’ve been a resistant to some things I believe God has been readying me for.
I paused in front of the magazines at Publix yesterday. I still cannot quite believe that in December my story as a Featured Artist will be in the Winter issue of this beautiful magazine. People all over the country, maybe the world will read about how I came back to art because art had been patiently waiting for me.
I told a friend today, “I’m just not very good at being okay with a whole lot of attention.”
I think about the words that will accompany photos of my art in this magazine, “What Women Create” on shelves in December. I understand with quiet confidence that it is not me that is being shared, it is my story of beginning with my Bible a decade ago. And so, this beginning with my Bible is where I have come back to as my story meant to be told.
I have submitted a book proposal for a devotional called “The Colors of Your Bible” to three publishers/agencies.
One has said “No”, two have been unresponsive. This is the way of this business. Expect rejection but hope for possibility.
I bought a new Bible just like the one that got me started and I’m hoping to share it with others, inviting others to be creative.
For now, I’m just excited that I am saying yes to sharing this practice with you.
Several days ago, out walking with my grandson Henry, I paused to think about the recent attention I’ve gotten because of my art.
I thought of the reality of it all being pretty unbelievable, even uncharacteristic of the life I’ve mostly known.
I thought of my life up to now, my childhood, my trauma, my rescue by God, my life leveling out and I let the tears fall.
These words may be wasted on you; but, just know it is something to be amazed by to see who I am now alongside who I used to be.
A couple of weeks ago, I woke on my couch. I had moved from my bed because of a cough that was annoying. I opened my eyes, pulled my blanket up to my chest and I saw the light on the place I have adorned with art. I saw this place in my home in a new light.
I remembered all the homes I have known. One in particular led to my thoughts. It was a house made of cinder blocks painted pale green. It was a flat and long house with very little yard, it was a house in the fork of a road from town to country.
It was damp. I must’ve been about ten years old. I was very afraid living here. I thought of my now home in light of other homes I have known that felt just so very transient. So uncertain, so not well, not “well off” at all.
I know with certainty that is why God woke me with this different view, the light coming through.
I know it is hard for others to understand why good things might be scary, close to debilitating for me.
I painted a duck today, vibrant and fun and very much adding and taking away of color. A friend said “You can paint anything!” and I answered her, “its just deciding not to give up”.
Are you tentative over success or attention? If so, let me be your reluctant example of believing what seems so very surprising.
God sees as you, and what was seen in the beginning of you has not been forgotten.
If it seems you’ve lived a life mostly hidden; perhaps, you’ve been kept safe, stayed polished until it was the time for your unique use.
I’m not sure where my art and words may go next or whether they’ve gone far enough.
Either way, I have had everything I needed and so much more.
You can visit my website here to see my latest paintings.
I’ve been looking over at the second trio of orchid blooms. I never expected it, I expected the failure that often comes with my orchids.
I shift the pot the plant is in, turning it away from the window. I wonder if the cold air from the vent is the reason the branch becomes more bent like it’s struggling no matter the pot’s position.
One evening I walked in the heavy humidity. Told myself give thirty minutes to intentional movement and maybe add some motivational listening.
I tried two podcasts. One was way too chipper, the other too chatty.
I decided to walk quietly.
I remembered words I heard earlier, a suggestion for focused prayer with a question.
So, I asked it.
“God, what is this season that I am currently in?”
I’ll tell you, I was barely three steps farther along and the answer came with no haggling or hindrance.
“Acceptance…This season is a season of acceptance for you.”
Waiting For Me
I walked on and remembered several days ago as I walked around the house, doing nothing and yet thinking about doing everything. “Malaise” comes to mind to describe it labeling myself lazy but what if
I’m just takin’ it easy, letting things rest?
Thoughts of my latest artwork, thoughts of the completed pieces leaning like sacred treasures against the wall in my tiny little “art room”.
I felt the affirmation rise up in my soul, the conviction to continue anyway.
“Come what may.” I told myself and then very quietly carried on with my “grandma day”.
Just a couple of hours later, an email was noticed. The word “beautiful” caused me slow.
“Your work is beautiful.” the sender said, “we’d like to feature you.”
Only a week or so prior, I’d sent a submission to be a featured artist in “What Women Create” a quarterly publication for artists, a stunning magazine with rich colors and pages weighted heavily.
I told only a couple of people and I never expressed my joy, only my surprise.
Coming Soon
“Come what may.” I’d told myself earlier, an expression of settledness in what might happen one way or the other.
I walked on that recent evening and thought about acceptance and began to see why God may have spoken this quality as the one I must understand more clearly in this, my season.
I wondered if I accept the disappointments in my life as sort of “Oh sure, it’s always this way” acceptance and I continue on in that way of expectancy.
More comfortable accepting defeat or delay and treating good things that come my way as
A surprise or a fluke?
When I look back over my life, specifically as a writer and an artist and one who shares both, I have to be honest with myself.
I’m joyous over a ribbon that’s labeled “Best in Show”, over words that describe my artwork as “beautiful” and over kind and loving expressions to me about me and my art.
Still, I often don’t truly believe those blessings were chosen for me. I somehow convince myself it was some sort of accident.
Awareness is the first step towards new thinking, acknowledgement is the key to open those doors widely waiting and questioning why I’ve yet to enter in.
This may not make sense to you.
You may be one who is thrilled by the things you worked hard to complete or compete for actually coming true.
Or maybe you do understand and if so, I share these rambling thoughts and this realization for you.
Do you expect struggle?
Do you anticipate things not coming together?
Do you only half-heartedly commit because not “getting in” feels better than being excluded.
Every success begins with a decision and that decision is more than just trying, it is the decision to believe God has good things for you.
Not only are there good things for us; but, God actually planned them in advance (and is patiently waiting for our acceptance?).
It all comes together
“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10 NLT
Why do we “accept the bad with the good” more than we believe that in reverse? Or let my mama’s expression, “It’s all in it, Lisa.” be a bandaid over a hurt instead of a healing balm?
My recent collection of paintings, “Not Yet Seen” have resonated for many, but I almost didn’t paint them. I told myself “I love them but they’re different for me, no one has seen this type work from me, so many other artists already do this, etc.”
The woeful voice in my head, “If I release these and none of them sell, I’ll be disappointed again, I’ll need to acknowledge they weren’t as special as I thought.”
But, I painted twelve, not eleven as first planned and now there are just six remaining.
“I’m so happy I followed my heart.” I told the gallery owner. She answered, “Me too.”
Maybe the seesaw of good and bad and the acceptance of both with equal energy amounts to just how well we “follow our hearts”
And that our hearts most importantly of all, be guarded by love, the love of God and acceptance of that love for us above all else.
my morning corner
“So above all, guard the affections of your heart, for they affect all that you are. Pay attention to the welfare of your innermost being, for from there flows the wellspring of life.” Proverbs 4:23 TPT
Every morning I sit in the soft chair in the corner embraced by artwork on the wall behind me.
Often, I rise to begin my day, turn and pause and although there is an array of canvas and paper and color, my eyes land on love and I carry that all day.
Accepting more as truth every moment just how immensely God loves me.
Most importantly, accepting that more than any other thing, any doubt, any denial, any thing at all that will likely come my way today and tomorrow to detour me.
I’ll accept the better.
“Come what may.” I shall say
and when good comes I’ll believe it as truth, I will claim and accept the better.
Who wakes up wondering if the orchid will bloom, if the method used to “prop it up” was helpful or a mistake?
These are the things I think.
These are to me, metaphors of a life of faith. Ridiculous, even to me, I watched the orchid and giddily followed its change.
The blooms protected in the plump pod, every afternoon becoming more robust.
Then the color changed where the stem met the pod. It changed from pristine to a color that looked like an old healing bruise, purple and brown all puddled together.
Ugly.
That’s when I intervened.
I found a thin velvet ribbon used to hold my worn out book together.
I carefully wrapped the ribbon around the wooden stake and I eased it gently, the stem that was leaning. I wrapped the ribbon loosely and fastened it all together.
Then I wondered, was the pressure gonna choke the nutrients that would help it grow?
Had I done too much?
Was my attempt to control too much pressure on the branch?
Were my intentions to help it thrive instead stunting its growth, choking its ability to freely grow?
“My orchid’s blooming!” I announced to my daughter.
“Okay.”, she responded.
And that’s okay. The growth seems only meant for me.
And maybe all the propping up and hoping for blooming after very long hoping to come true, to not analyze all the failed attempts, to half-hearted efforts and the decisions that “growing” is not meant for you, is best met by tender care and waiting.
Acceptance.
Watering carefully so as not to drown the leaves, shifting the pot to share equally the sun and most importantly as my aunt would say
“Tell it good morning and just leave it alone. It will live best this way.” Aunt Boo
Funny how we grow best with just a very little help, we grow best on our own with support we know we can count on and know it won’t come like criticism, won’t stunt our growth, kill our hopes or
spread our secret fears of withering in a way that leads to the death of them.
Because it comes from the deep wells of us, not outsiders.
How do we grow?
We grow like the orchid moved from the corner six months ago to live beside me, roots untangled like fragile treasures and given a new home, a pot with ample place to spread and grow.
And the awareness that there are watchers, quietly excited to see us bloom, not wither.
To see us not give up on what’s been gently propped up yet again by grace and by the invisible nutrient, most important of all,
Hope.
There are six unopened pods reaching toward the light. I may have an even more extravagant orchid, its second birth of blooms, than I ever expected.
I’ll be looking forward, seeing clearly all my past efforts of reviving it were not wasted after all.
Nor have been I.
I’ll be open to being cared for, a little by others but mostly by God and his calling me “treasured” as I understand that me more every moment.
Hope waits for the invitation to grow and I’m the sender of the “come to the party”.
It never gives up.
Gladly accepts the nourishment of my patient embrace and regular care.
Hope leads to love and well,
love never fails.
Always hopes.
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” 1 Corinthians 13:7 ESV
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.
I’ve been kinda cuddling my “word of the year” for a couple of weeks.
Because it’s surprising, the way it came to mind and then enlightened me.
Someone commented on instagram several weeks ago. Their words about my art were kind and I simply added that I wanted to continue to grow.
And that I hoped to continue to be authentic in 2025 and also to become more “polished” in my brand and my presence.
A goal, a motivation of sorts.
Then, as I often do, I wondered what my Bible said about the word.
I typed “polished” into the search block and the verse that resulted has led to exploration.
“He made my mouth like a sharpened sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me into a polished arrow and concealed me in his quiver.”
Isaiah 49:2 NIV
There was already a sketch in the margin here, a woman in a purple gown with brown hair.
This morning, I found the page in my Bible with all the “words of the year” scribbled and haphazardly jotted.
I made a list, there were nine. The words, in a way predictably yearning.
Breakthrough, Still, Faithful, Endurance, Victorious, Willing, Small Things…
In 2024 I had trouble committing. I started with Limitless and mid-year shifted to Quietly.
“Polished”, I’m believing, is a word that’s different.
2024 was a hard year for me. I won’t weigh you down with why.
There was just a lot of processing what had been held hidden, a lot of smoothing tucked away rough edges, and even more succumbing to acceptance of certain truths that were meant to lead to change.
Closed doors of my heart were allowed the peering in by my Father.
“Polished”.
The scripture (I’ll remind you I’m not theologically educated) speaks of an arrow that has been readied and then safely protected in the quiver.
Polished and protected for the intended target only God knows.
Do I know what 2025 holds for my artwork and my writing?
Not at all.
I only know I’ve been readied.
I’ve been polished.
I’ve been kept in the Lord’s quiver.
The preparations have led to a polished arrow, me available in the timing and destination decided by God.
My word for 2025 found me. I didn’t go searching or choose because of my struggles or my longings.
It came by surprise.
I thought I was talking about my art. I see it was and is me.
An unexpected gift I was given on Christmas Day is now a morning ritual.
finding the light
A voice like comfort responds to my ask. Her name is Alexa. I know you’ve probably known her for a bit. I’m just getting to know her.
Today is the third morning I’ve spoken into to the predawn darkness and asked for the “verse of the day”.
The first day the verse was from the Book of John, the words of Jesus telling the disciples not to worry. He was leaving but he’d be preparing a place, they’d be with Him soon.
I listened. My takeaway was the pure confidence in the words of Jesus and the accepted promise and confidence in the listeners who could not perceive all of it as certain truth.
The second day the verse came from John 16, the verse again in the words of Jesus, again with assurance but this time, an assurance of difficulties.
This morning, New Year’s Eve, I asked my little nightstand friend for the verse again.
Today’s verses? Isaiah 43:16-19
I thought, I know these by heart.
There’s a sketch in the margin here from years ago, a time marking the embrace of this promise.
“This is what the Lord says— he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Isaiah 43:16-19 NIV
I know this passage. I’ve held it closely as a promise and I’ve used it often for not so gentle redirection.
Perceive: to obtain knowledge by the senses, to understand, to discern
“Do you not perceive it?”
These five words begged me to listen longer, to examine myself, to consider my perceptions.
How my perceptions of life past and present affect my influence.
My influencing others toward hope, toward peace and toward newness regardless of their past.
Because…
I can only influence others. I don’t bring change, only offer quietly, my influence.
I can and should assess the perceptions of others of me.
Do I love with pure intentions only?
Are my regrets sincere?
Do I surrender the impossibly hard feelings and things or do they wreak havoc on my influence, my presence?
Do I coddle my past like a sick baby needing constant attention or do I honor that past in light of my present wellness? Do I care for my past wounds from a healthy distance?
new strength every morning
Our perceptions determine our influence.
What ways has God made a way for you?
What dried up and deserted places have been refreshed to flow like peaceful streams?
Are you focused on the old things, even as recent as yesterday, and worn blinders to obscure the new things springing up?
God loves you. You have a future.
Do you not perceive it? Isaiah 43:19
Happy New Year’s Eve.
Can you hear the voice of hope?
Listen closely and remember mostly, it’s a soft voice like morning light in the distance, a comforting whisper responding to your questions.
Gently calling and asking you to remember and keep remembering.
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
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 