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”
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
“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Isaiah 43:18 ESV
On the top of my “to do” is to download my blogposts as I prepare to move my words from here to Substack.
The question mark is gone, I’ve decided to move. But the questions remain.
Do I print every post? Do I simply save them? Are there words that will cause me to cringe? Are they a spattering of wisdom worth keeping for later sharing, maybe publication?
Yes, to everything.
I sit with my list, the Labrador is so very chill; I believe happy I’m home and not hurried.
I view the YouTube tutorial again.
Okay, I’m gonna do it…
Later.
Not on the list is the closet, the tangled mess of costume, classy and funky necklaces, dysfunction!
I attended a Christmas party last night. I almost didn’t. My closet and its sad collection of not fitting or way too far worn and gone clothing set my tone towards dismay.
I pulled it together and had some pleasant and memorable conversations.
Back down the hall I went today. Before shipping sold art, before painting, before the WordPress cancellation that I must do by Friday.
I started in the back. I touched every garment. I charted the seasons and phases of me.
A period when I bought sweaters oversized and chunky because I thought I’d never be not “plus” any longer.
The too large pieces were jerked from the hangers and began the pile for donation.
Next the “dry clean only” executive pieces, pencil skirts, cardigan, fancy blouses for under blazers. These were the outfits for those days I took the stand in juvenile court to speak unwaveringly confident about the abuses children endured.
Those were the meeting clothes, board meeting or travels to Atlanta.
Interview for promotions attire.
Those are not me, these positions are no longer my calling or service.
Then the “statement necklaces”, a tangled mess were untangled.
A bunch of those were chunked along with a favorite black turtleneck that I decided to sit for “just a second” to paint and ruined the sleeve after an hour.
But a few pieces, I kept.
The Mother’s Day gift tunic, worn transparent from washing.
The fancy camisole I wore to my daughter’s wedding and my mother of the bride dress.
A red sweater because of my mama.
The bluebird blue structured top I wore to the Citadel graduation of my son.
The long sleeve black A-line dress I wore to my mama’s funeral, the shoes as well.
Another black dress, more of a sheath from my thinner days, the one I felt both pretty and presentable in for the first time going to church with Greg.
A necklace made of macaroni, painted purple and threaded on twine, a match for the one Elizabeth made.
A few other things that I treasure were kept.
More than I thought I was able to part with are now ready to be loaded into my car for donation.
The ease of this chore always surprises me.
We can let go if we just begin.
We can begin again if we will just will ourselves to let go.
I hope you’ll follow me to Substack. I’m just there as me, Lisa Anne Tindal.
I hope you’ll see the reason for my move, the decision to be more intentional about writing as one affected by complex trauma.
Writing from a place of my words an offer of hope.
To do no harm, simply be brave enough to be new.
Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43:19 ESV
Thanks for being here all these years. I pray you’ll follow.
December always makes me remember Merle Haggard, the hope of makin’ it until then and the days being brighter days once we’re there.
Yesterday, I thought of six words that I could call my December memoir.
Not a finish
A clearer path
There are places in the country I won’t walk with the babies.
Surprising, I guess because I’m sort of a rebel when it comes to strikin’ out on a walk.
“I’ll figure it out!” I’m known to announce.
I have memories of the year I lived with my mama and daddy, a period of seeking wellness from self-destructive eating.
I can’t tell you how many miles it was…
the circle of dirt road that began at my grandma’s house, through the peanut field, past the creek, up the hill, past the “shack”, past the farmer who wanted to date me’s house, through the weeds, around the curve to the lake where the rough people lived and past my Aunt Marie’s to be back home again.
It was way too far for a woman, young and with a reputation, to walk alone.
I was thin. I was lost. I was lonely.
Thinking back, it wasn’t health I was seeking, it was simply more self-destruction.
Trying to have my life match what I decided it was worth…not much at all.
That’s a hard pill to acknowledge. This meandering search I’ve sought, mostly taught, some stubbornly chosen.
“Self-destruction is an addictive behavior.” Rita Springer
I heard this truth last week.
And I’m kinda blown away by the resonance.
The truth that it’s not one specific or stereotypically thought addictive behavior that is addictive. Instead, it’s any and all of our choices and responses to life and our people and places in life, that lead us to this well worn and not so safe path.
I made a list. I love a list.
A list with words that may either seem too normal, not destructive or may seem like they aren’t choices that can become addictive, intentional choices we continue that are self-destructive.
I suppose I should soften this…no one wants to be told they are “self-destructive”.
How about behaviors that aren’t good for our bodies and souls?
Choices that don’t cherish the truth that our bodies are the temples of the Holy Spirit. Paul doesn’t sound too positive when he warns us.
But, have you ever noticed that he begins and ends his letters with a prayer that we’d all have the knowledge of God’s grace, His love?
“Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy him. For God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple.” 1 Corinthians 3:16-17 ESV
Not so soft a warning, I thought.
So, back to the list, maybe an inventory year end of subtle and not so subtle self-destructive behaviors.
I chose a different header, kinder wording.
I chose
“What is NOT giving you quiet confidence and strength in God, in your choices these days?”
Accepting unkindness (abuse) in relationships
Taking on too much to please others and thereby determine your worth
Bad health, diet habits
Too much looking for good on a phone
Procrastination in regards to God’s nudges
Habitual time with God without reverence, sort of rote
Junk TV that takes my focus on God in me and puts it on the crazy or interesting lives of others (I love reality TV)
Clutter (mental and otherwise)
How are these self-destructive? Mostly because they have a tendency of putting God’s voice on “mute” in my daily life.
So, how do we move through our days, through December with a hope for the coming days.
I’m learning there’s one more important thing.
See suffering as fellowship with Jesus.
You may have heard all things are worked for good and you might have actually known people who say so.
But, do we really believe that they believe this?
Paul wrote about this fellowship.
“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,”
Philippians 3:8-10 ESV
Suffering has its gift.
Faith not in ourselves but in Christ
Sharing in His sufferings.
Becoming Christlike, a privilege really, not hardship (?)
That’s hard, not easy.
I’m not great at this. I avoid suffering with a well learned and established skill to be hyper vigilant.
Yesterday, baby Henry wanted to walk, not be strolled. He burst forward on toddling feet in socks, not shoes on the rocky path.
In the distance, a black thread laced across the path. I stood and watched, turned the baby back towards home and turned him back again. He was intent on forward, moving steady down the path.
The dog didn’t bark. The black snake made its way into the brush.
And we lingered and walked slowly in a rhythm of walking away from home and then turning back to home.
There was no need to hurry.
No need to fear. We were safe.
God was near.
There was no fight to be fought, nothing but us and the breeze and wide blue sky above us, God enveloping us and our faith in His ever present love.
“When we wrap the language of war around our suffering, it becomes a battle to be won rather than our experiences to be processed.” Katherine Wolf
I’ve never been good at fighting, only at sullenly retreating.
We weren’t made to fight, only to be faithful.
“For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.”
But you were unwilling, and you said, “No! We will flee upon horses”; therefore you shall flee away; and, “We will ride upon swift steeds”; therefore your pursuers shall be swift. A thousand shall flee at the threat of one; at the threat of five you shall flee, till you are left like a flagstaff on the top of a mountain, like a signal on a hill.
Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.” Isaiah 30:15-18 ESV
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’m reading a book my sister recommended and thinking there was a time I would never have read it.
A struggle between good and evil would’ve decidedly led to me deciding it was evil and putting it on the shelf, washing my hands of it.
The author can’t decide whether she believes God exists.
It wouldn’t be hatred of her or even judgment that would’ve have led to my banning of her book, of her.
It would be a tangible fear, a fear that the thoughts and questions of another might somehow taint my mind, lead me forever astray.
I might “be in trouble”.
You see, there are choices embedded in me, pounded into my head and heart by the angry preacher yelling at me, a chubby adolescent, an intimidated child who just wanted to belong.
To be safe and loved.
And learned to believe that according to God, to belong meant finding wrong in others, telling them about their sin and then never ever associating with such a person.
That’s why I still have this fear that a writer or just a person different than me, might somehow have the special powers to lure me, change me, make me unacceptable to God.
To be unlovable.
I think often of how this fear of being not faith filled enough, about being certain of being right and all the others wrong
Kinda caused me to make some unkind conclusions about others.
To utter unkind words.
Thinking their faith was false when I had no idea or evidence of such.
It was just a response that came from a mark left on a little girl.
Girl becoming a woman seeking perfection to avoid shame, girl becoming woman who waited to be condemned, never comforted.
Girl becoming a woman who always felt but only recently told God so…
“I feel like you’re punishing me, God.”
A woman with a tear soaked face who rose from the floor better for telling God so.
Sensing Him say, “I knew you felt that way, now you’re feeling better already because you weren’t afraid to tell me.”
And that feeling was very certain. God, you love me after all.
The author, Kelly Corrigan in her chapter of her book “Tell Me More” explores the simple response, “I don’t know.”
And it’s an honest choice she expresses.
A private one too.
I’m certain of God’s love. I have more reasons than that memoir idea I keep dancing around would have space for.
I do believe.
It’s a choice and on questioning days I ask God with raw honesty, the questions I used to believe I’d go straight to Hell for even having.
My faith is a winding path, has been mostly.
But, I’m beginning to notice with certainty that the path is becoming more simple, more solid, more sure.
And I’m certain that straightaway road has come in gradual honesty, brave questions and a settled stillness to open my heart and mind, no longer afraid to wonder.
Continue and believe.
Your life, every bit of it is your teacher, your listening and patient guide.
I scrolled through my podcast offerings needing an accompaniment for my walk.
A walk that would serve to settle me and unravel anxiety before I paint “live” a little later.
I chose music instead and I chose Sandra McCracken.
Her voice reminds me of the music my parents, especially my daddy loved.
She’s a little Loretta Lynn and a little bit Patsy Cline, softer versions of both and yet a voice that’s strong.
When you think of music, what are your memories?
When I hear Edwin McCain, I remember our wedding day. (Edwin McCain is so good in concert, btw).
When I remember my newfound strength as a single mother, it’s Sheryl Crow.
In my car is a burned CD compiled by my daughter. In sharpie letters, it’s marked, “Mama’s Michelob Mix”. Miranda Lambert type vibes when I needed to be a little more free.
If I hear James Taylor, I remember my son as a middle school baseball player. We were on a country road together and he sang along to “You’ve Got A Friend” with me.
Nowadays, I’m listening to Lauren Daigle, Chris Renzema and Steffany Gretzinger.
And Alison, always Alison Krauss.
Sing, it’s good for the soul.
Who needs more advice on being your best self anyway?
“Sing to him, sing praise to him; tell of all his wonderful acts.” Psalms 105:2 NIV
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 