A collection of nine paintings, acrylic with oil pastel, is available through The Scouted Studio’s on line gallery.
To learn more about the inspiration behind these or to purchase, follow this link.
I love the sound of “August”, the sounds of it. The excitement for new things like a school year, a settledness from summer things that sometimes feel like “have to do’s” more than want to’s.
Last year’s calendar came to be when I considered the gift of a dove’s meaning, the nearness of God, the invitation to be a believer in and a seeker of peace.
Maybe August comes with an invitation to change the way we’re walking, sort of reroute our navigation.
I discovered the Biblical meaning of August being themes like new beginnings, reset, and one I especially love, “restoration” and I for one, am happy the day is here…the very first day to move courageously (even if again or against the wind) toward beautiful yet to be seen ways that God is a God of restoration.
Nine paintings of women came to life as I thought about the courage that comes from allowing and aligning with God’s restorative love and discipline.
He’s making us new, leading us who are listening, noticing and recalling just how far we’ve coming.
Our colors are changing, no longer hidden.
We’re vibrant.
“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
So, watch and notice. Pay attention. August is ready to bring restoration, to continue in ways that felt new, or to begin anew.
Next year’s calendar?
I’m thinking “transformation” as its theme.
Butterflies as art.
“Restoration” pieces will be live on my website (www.lisaannetindal.me) in just TWO Days!
Thanks for being here with me.
One wilted rose remains. It’s wound its way among the limelight hydrangeas. I’ve been greeted by the beauty every morning this week. Soon, the petals will drop and not so long away, the green will be dried up by Autumn air and the tiny rose will just be a memory, but also a hope.
Could it be as simple as choosing forward looking more often than back?
Could this be the blessing over the curse?
“See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse—”
Deuteronomy 11:26 NIV
How we see things matters. Interactions, relationships and our part in the ugliness or beauty of them.
Exchanges linger in our hearts even if we’ve been long separated from the person or people.
We are marked by ugliness and yet, we can choose not to be forever marred.
We can choose to see the joy and lightness in looking forward.
I was frozen in the driver’s seat. I could hurry to catch up and engage in casual talk or I could sit and wait, not have the guts to simply be near her.
“How are you?” might be my question or maybe they’d go first.
Or there might be no words offered, no interaction for the sake of one another, just a layer of stifled breath between us.
And that’s quite okay.
Because hurt lingers long in the hearts of one betrayed, cast aside or used for another’s climbing the ladder advantage.
There was a time when my face was well known, known for the work I represented and recognized in the “right” circles.
Now, I’m just “someone people used to know” becoming the woman not needing to be “known”, just me being me.
I’m not sure what prompted the thought, the realization.
I’m sort of okay with this new “imageless” image. Maybe all the other roles, women I tried hard to be were actually in a way
Imaginary.
This morning, I read a review by Michele Morin of a book by Christine Caine, “Don’t Look Back”.
Caine writes of the ways we can get stuck in our tracks (turn to an immovable block of salt like Lot’s wife) when we continue to look back.
Maybe looking back is good if we use it as a choice to decide.
To look back and see the distance you’ve gotten in your healing from hurt, to look back and think for a minute before reacting, I’m better, stronger, wiser on this forward facing side of that person’s hurt.
To look back, not stuck and staring but to look back and confidently reposition our gaze, to view the harm of our pasts as a reflection of our empowered decisions…
What was meant to harm us will not destroy us.
What was bad is on its way to more very good.
Decide to believe in the good you’ve already seen. Choose a sort of self-assessing.
Quietly measure the sense in your soul that keeps saying to you
All is well and all will be well with me.
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”
John 14:26 ESV
I stood in the pool, one foot in shallow, the other in the slant towards deep.
An audience of one, my granddaughter putting on a performance, her very own synchronized swimming dances from the edge into the water. Again and again, with happy pirouettes, she demonstrated the newly formed lessons with commitment.
I paused in between each repetition. I noticed her noticing me as I waited with gazing eyes to sense heaven again.
To find the Holy Spirit in my backyard.
And I did. It was a minute or less.
I sought quietly and I found the breath of heaven, the sense of the Holy Spirit in my chest, the warmth of the passing for just a second breeze on my cheek.
Willing myself to a state of “distractionless”.
In the auditorium, I sort of coaxed my mind to be where I was, to not think of things to do, to wonder less about home a couple of hours away and to practice presence, to be receptive.
I repositioned myself. I set my intentions, I reset my mind from racing to attentiveness.
I wept in worship. I raised my hand, opened my heart. Not unnatural, simply unable to resist.
A woman behind me prayed in unison with the one praying. I sat when “Amen” came, my cheeks lined, rivulets.
I wiped my face and reached behind to thank her, tapped her on the leg to say “thank you”. I noticed the touch of my hand, wet and she touched my hand, received it, my gratitude.
I was away for two days, my granddaughter said two weeks. I called to ask about Saturday’s plans and quickly they were decided, I’d be going to pick her up.
We dodged the storms. I taught her to measure the distance of thunder.
We listened. She understood.
She talked on and on and I read with incessant interruptions the book she chose.
Then the storm stopped and she slept like a 14 not 4 year old girl.
I slipped out of bed for coffee and returned to read quietly, turned by mistake to the wrong date of my devotional.
“I have no home, until I am in the presence of God. This holy presence is my inward home, and until I experience it, I am a homeless wanderer, a straying sheep in a waste howling wilderness.” Anonymous 1841 “Joy & Strength”
And moved to cherish, to hold closely the reality of God’s Spirit in me. I am a seeker of solace now, of pausing long for all other things to experience God.
I completed a survey of the experience, the conference “She Speaks” for women.
I added my takeaway, my thoughtful remembrance of weeping in worship (this is not my normal), of joining hands with other women and of feeling a belonging that was without typical female comparison or judgment.
I slept softly with a girl, four years old, who dreamt something only she knows.
Thinking, I pray she continues to be receptive to what’s not earthly…for that’s where the gift is, the seeking that must be practiced.
When she was a baby we stood at the window and she gazed fixated, seeing heaven in a way I’m incapable.
It doesn’t come naturally. We must remember to long for it with intention.
The experience of the nearness of God.
Indescribable, it is.
I believe children know such a closeness.
Closeness we long to know.
Continue to seek, believing God is near.
Continue and believe.
The way it shimmered caused me to pause. If the movement made a sound it’d be like the rhythmic lapping of the water caused by my body in the pool.
The slight breeze from the air conditioner vent caused a silver dancing curlicue in front of me as I drove.
I was captivated.
What before would prompt brooding, a sign of acceptance, I saw as beauty.
One or three thin strands of my hair, not brown but grey.
Dancing in my periphery.
I’m talking about turning 63 like it’s tomorrow and at the same time overjoyed to discover the biblical meaning of August, my birth month, is “restoration”.
I’m considering the bravery of not feeling old, instead feeling ready.
I have thoughts to share with others, I encounter people who engage with my story and with others whose plight tells me my story might bring comfort,
Might compel them to keep living
To keep growing older.
To continue and believe.
This month I’m leaving WordPress.
I’m thinking of change, of blogging about not just art, but my thoughts on faith on my art website. I’m tender over it.
I love my blog. Still, it makes sense as I acknowledge the overlap, the connection, God’s instrumental hand on my life. Maybe he’s calling me to simplify,
maybe he’s calling me to growth.
My writing and my art will abide together in the same home.
I don’t know which direction my art or my writing will go.
I just know I’m captivated by the glimmers.
Glimmers of hope
That say “keep going”.
If you’d like to follow me as I move forward, visit the About page at http://www.lisaannetindal.me and SUBSCRIBE.
Happenstance, sort of (I love that word, by the way) I’ll have a chance to share my writing hopes with a publisher next month. My very good and wise friend, Ray will smile at the hopefulness and bravery of this.
He might be one of the very few who wouldn’t be annoyed or puzzled over my reluctance.
Today, I picked blueberries. We have lots!
The breeze was warm with sunshine again!
And the thoughts came as I filled the jug with berries for my granddaughter.
Fear is easy. Reluctance is relaxing.
Avoidance is an exhale.
A sigh of relief.
We choose what we know.
We choose fear because we know it as safety.
And once we know the cause of our choices we can give ourselves freedom to
“Unknow” them,
I pick berries barefoot in the weeds and never think of ants, spiders, bugs or snakes.
It’s not that they don’t scare me, it’s just barefoot berry picking is what I know, what childhood told me was okay.
When other things were scary.
The more you know, right?
I said “Yes.” to discussing my idea for memoir.
Yes to next scary steps, certainly not barefooted.
I promise.
Continue and believe,
“Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am he.”
John 4:26 ESV
I sketched a thin woman in a scarlet gown in the margin of John, chapter 5, page 893. I found her flipping through to reread the account of the Samaritan woman who was avoiding the crowds to draw water at the well.
She met Jesus.
These pages don’t tell her story, only have the recorded words of Jesus talking about living water, a life without thirst, a limitless provision.
“On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”
John 7:37-38 ESV
Yesterday, I had a moment that led to chills up my legs and over my entire body. I sensed the truth of my physical reaction. I paused to accept it and allowed a tiny bit of wetness on my cheeks.
My college roommate for just a year, now a successful business woman who I’ve not seen nor spoken to in over forty years, commented on a Facebook photo of my granddaughter.
The thought that came was sudden.
“She needs to know how I came to be okay.”
She needs for me to keep sharing my story.
She needs to know how I moved from hopelessness to hope.
The Woman at the Well went into the town nearby and told everybody that she’d met the man who knew everything about her, told her all he knew and gave her hope, living water.
I find myself wanting to read more of her story.
I long for the next chapters in her life to be in my Bible, her walk forward with Jesus.
I want to know if it was shaky, her faith. I long to hear from her through John, Luke or Mark, her battles, her returning to life with the reputation she’d created.
I wonder if we don’t read about the other “chapters” in her life and others’ because God feels they wouldn’t serve us well, wouldn’t offer others that same water of hope.
I wonder if others wonder such things.
When the Samaritan woman returned to her day to day, possibly less enthused about her encounter with Jesus, was she met with disbelief, with sarcasm, with scorn?
I’d like to know what all the ex-husbands and ex-lovers as well as those who thought they might get the chance to be her lover had to say.
Was it hard for her to see herself differently than what she’d come to be known for?
Was her salvation just a fluke? Did she struggle with doubt?
Maybe.
After all, she was human as were all the humans healed by Jesus.
She had emotions.
I believe she held on tightly to the simplest of words.
“I met Jesus.”
We read that she changed the lives of many Samaritans that day.
But, we don’t read how she walked into her new future day to day.
Maybe there’s just not enough space to record all the ways Jesus continued to help her, how she continued to remind herself of the day at the well, how she hurried to tell everyone.
I have hope now. I am well.
I used to believe I’d always answer the question of why I believe in Jesus by telling of all the answered prayers I have experienced.
Now, it’s in the stories of others, in my story, in the unexpected and beautiful nudges that say I matter…
the woman you became despite the little girl and young woman, growing older woman, often imperfect that you’re becoming.
The entirety of you, your story matters.
“Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”
John 21:25 ESV
There’s still plenty of time and space to share it.
Continue.
Continue and believe.
And if you’ve not yet believed or your belief is fading or shaky.
I’d love to pose a question.
How might your life be different if you decided to believe and believe in Jesus.
He giveth more grace.
I am evidence of that.
I brought my “grandma” mug outside. It’s quiet. The cats are being cats, deciding which one is the favorite, staking their claim, one in a chair beside me, the other at my feet.
I remember my mama had her coffee on the porch. Soon, I’ll hear the sliding door open. My husband will wonder where I am.
Not cushioned in my morning chair in the corner.
Now the birds are strengthening the chorus of their choir, all the chatter becoming less harmonious.
Too busy, I softened the borders and the colors on a trio of paintings last week.
Now, they are more soft-spoken, their message more a hint than a demand.
Soon, I’ll not be hidden in the quiet place shielded by too tall hedges.
Last week, walking, I found a new explanation for my tendency to retreat, to isolate, to stay small and unnoticed.
Why the resistance is so strong in being seen, known, unhidden.
It’s because, I gave myself permission to accept, hiddenness is a skill set, a talent I finessed as a child.
Being hidden is a pattern I’ve perfected well.
But, less often even if difficult.
Deeply recessed is this go to behavior, a way to protect even though protection is not necessary.
I am safe. I am loved. I am not limited any longer by the required skill of self-protection.
I am safe. Salvation is my story.
Hidden and loved.
Noticed by God as I notice His Spirit in me.
Quietly seeking him in places that are hidden in a good way, the way called peace.
“But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works.”
Psalm 73:28 ESV
I haven’t joined other writers in a while, been hiding there as well. Today, I’m linking up with Five Minute Friday here:
https://fiveminutefriday.com/2023/06/08/fmf-writing-prompt-link-up-hidden/
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.
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
“Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”
Isaiah 30:21 NIV
My friend, Susan gets me, the way I share a story that goes down every path possible and then I circle back around to the point of my sharing.
God has placed wisdom in the form of listeners and those who notice me and mostly unbeknownst to them lead to clarity.
Many years ago on a Thursday morning, a question lingered, had been lingering long. I asked God what to do and added that I knew me and I’d be confused and conflicted forever if He didn’t show me in a big and clear way.
And He did and the course of my life changed.
I accepted that I would be a single mother.
I may never have a prayer answered so promptly and sure again. Or I may.
Wednesday morning, the country road was quiet, the half moon moved with me and fields on either side, sprinkled with cows and crops were striated by thinly layered fog.
Like a canvas changed by an artist who intentionally used light spectacularly well.
I’d been thinking of that same sort of application in new paintings.
I thought of my words in a journal, the research into what the phrase “honing my craft” truly means.
I was happy. I love words and I love when they are like little secret gifts.
A term I used as a nonprofit professional came to mind, “mission creep”. New to the leadership field, I inherited a mess of misuse of many things. Funding was failing, the agency facing catastrophic losses and necessary changes.
I had no skillset for this position other than compassion for others and a commitment to that call.
There were talks of “adding programs” for which grant funding was freely distributed. If we did more, there might be more money.
But, we had two employees and no capacity to carry out additional programs. I said no and I had a board who trusted me.
I offered, “No, let’s figure out what we are known for, what matters and what we do well and let’s get better at that.”
That naive assertion on my part redirected the course of the agency I oversaw for ten years and I suppose as I write this, it’s the actual first time I have given myself credit for that courageous “no” to chasing after new at the expense of forgoing good.
Choosing better over bigger.
Lord, I see you refining my jagged edges.
A prayer I offered on Wednesday morning, the fog striated in the sky, layered like paint in varying thickness on the canvas of an abstract painting. The sky wrote a beautiful note to my soul that morning,
told me to slow down, settle into what you love about writing and painting and do what is you, not anyone else.
A friend later surprised me with what she’d been seeing in me.
“With your painting -it is beautifully abstract-it does not have to be “perfect”. I sense you feel that your writing has to be “perfect” whatever that is for writing which trips you up. I see Holy Spirit lovingly pouring what looks like liquid gold over and into your mind. I feel that as you continue to explore God’s unconditional love for you. His words are going to flow out of you.” K.
My friend’s response to the question that wears me out (and probably others).
Should I just paint and not write?
If you’re still reading, you may be tired of this old weary question.
Me too. ME TOO!
I stopped by the gallery of a friend. If you’re anywhere near Augusta, Georgia, you must stop in to CANDL on Broad Street. The photographer and curator, Drake White is someone I described as just “happening upon me and my art”. I am honored to have been photographed by him.
I committed to seeing the current exhibit of the acclaimed artist, Ed Rice on the final night of the show and so I drove over yesterday evening, scurrying into the gallery without an umbrella in the sprinkling rain.
I was greeted by two gentleman, one an artist and the other Mr. White. Fascinated by the works, I commented on the emotion of the subjects, not people, rather 18th century dolls.
Still, I decided one was demure and another had been “harmed”.
I was introduced to the other artist with words about three things…
my faith
my writing
my art
I stood quietly and accepted the kind commentary of me.
The me I’d been losing, sort of like a “mission creep” in creative endeavors seeking to be known.
“This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says: “Only in returning to me and resting in me will you be saved. In quietness and confidence is your strength. But you would have none of it.”
Isaiah 30:15 NLT
I hadn’t lost my faith; but, maybe I was losing “faith in me” as in the Holy Spirit answering in the most unexpected ways and quietly, a ripple of wisdom that barely changes the stream.
Involving others as teachers, as witnesses of you.
For the sake of you.
For goodness sake and to contribute to the question…with the surest and sweetest answer.
Faith, writing and art, Lisa Anne…for the goodness of others, share my goodness in you.
Is there a place you’ve ventured away from what is for you?
Are you missing the goodness because of grabbing for grander?
Pay attention to what others notice in you and be reminded by a certain little phrase my granddaughter is quite proud of saying…
“Oh, my goodness!” Elizabeth
Oh…my goodness, yes.
Continue and believe
thank you for being here.
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.
Where we meet in the middle.
Awake, My Heart
Original Art and Photography Matt. 5:16
May my words preserve this land, the South, its people, and way of life.
Stacey C. Johnson
Living Bold and Beautiful for Jesus
Sharing God's love with the world, one heart at a time.
faith to follow will provide you with helpful tips, ideas, and words of encouragement for your journey to fulfilling your dreams God's way
Author|Poet|Teacher
Illustrations to make you smile, laugh, and sometimes make you see things from a different perspective 😉
Bread from Heaven, Fresh from God's oven!
Sean Dietrich's column on life in the American South.
Daily Prayers to start the day
Visit my website: Cheryl Bostrom.com
A Journey of real life experiences & Observations
to Extraordinary Life in Christ
Connecting with God through a messy life
Photography
I'm just another dreamer...
Raves, Reviews, Rants and Ramblings
Be Encourage
"I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh" - Ezekiel 36:26
For the female voice exploring faith and life in full.
Mental Health-Christian Living--Devotional
Thoughts from an Older, hopefully, wiser woman
Author and speaker
The Creative Zone for Making Art
Highlighting Connections
Mostly poetry and feelings...in harmony.
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.
An extra page for Rowley Church's Magazine
Finding the extraordinary in the midst of the ordinary
a journey to discover grace in everyday life
Daily drama with my canine companions
"..learn the unforced rhythms of grace" matt 11:28
Random stuff, reflections on the meaning of life and death, humour, self-deprecation, a bit of bad poetry.
Lisa Anne Tindal 