courage

Welcome, Winter

aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, Faith, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, waiting, writing

“The world is so scary…how can I know?” (Words written and shared with a grandchild)

Out walking before the chill that comes with sundown, I thought about writing. 

I thought of the binder, fat with printed words, tucked in the space between my desk and my dresser. 

I don’t want to see it and I don’t want to not see it, the evidence of an optimistic attempt to secure interest in my book idea, the one with the title I’ve coddled and kept for so many years. 

There were “No’s” and there were “no replies at all”. 

I remembered a phrase I’d embraced to guide the writing of essays of sorts, one I felt represented my honesty and a clear voice, my voice in the telling of the stories.

“Start with hope and end with hope.”

This seemed like a good mindset to write honestly about hard things and to let the middle be expressed clearly and the ending, leave the reader with hope. 

That middle part is what I thought about on my walk today. That stymied status when nothing seems to be changing for better and you’re sinking down in sand that’s quick sort of lulled by the angst of “how long must I be here?” Will I keep sinking into “stuckness” or will I reach for something to grab and pull myself back up. 

To carry on? 

I have 3 book ideas, two for children and one a collection of essays expressing the evidence of redemption’s work. 

Out of the blue the other day, my six year old granddaughter asked, 

“Grandma, are you still gonna write that book you told me about?”

I thought to say “No, don’t think so.” and then I realized her question was a supernatural nudge, she was the voice of God in a gentle and unforgettable way. 

The memoir type book that got all the rejections? I’m wondering if maybe I took the path of least resistance, attempted to write what might be more popular, more trendy in a way.

In doing so, I might’ve abandoned the soul of my stories. 

Here we are a few days from a brand new year. I’m leaning in and taking account of how my artwork has changed, how I have grown professionally and personally. I am aware that I, and my art have begun to be noticed by people other than friends and family. 

I wrote about how this is moving me forward just last week. I sense the clear desire to become even more me, which may be a voice that is more sure and less a goal of captivating followers. I feel very sure of this and I’ll keep reminding myself. 

But, the writing, the longing that won’t just fade…

I think I’m going to need to understand the reality of the business of writing. 

I need to be noticed and so, I need to be more noticeable. 

I need to accept life is not a fairy tale in which I have stories that I love to string together and that will be enough. 

(I don’t know why this is such a strong belief for me…that if I do my part, the other part will just come.) 

I’m sure there’s a reason in the depths of me and likely has much to do with childhood and trauma. I’ll let my counselor help me unlearn this “fairytale” way of expectations. 

As I walked this evening, I realized change comes only when I go looking for ways I may need to change. 

Most writers know the power of a strong redemptive arc. A story begins and it builds in an exciting, dreadful or anticipated tragedy sort of way. The details show the evidence of the events that one might find themselves in. 

We might walk the reader through a dark swampy forest with brush and bramble tangling and threatening injury…afraid and unable to see their feet. 

We may escort the reader up a hillside and unsure what’s ahead or how we’ll catch our breath because of not knowing what’s next. 

We might bring the reader with us to the place with no light, no noise, no friends, only foes and we might bring out a tenderness in them they hadn’t felt before. 

I’m typing this in my Notes app, and it may not make a lick of sense to anyone at all. 

But, it sure makes sense to me. 

So, here we go, pressing on to tomorrow and to a new year as a way to proclaim another beginning yet again. 

And I will keep this rambling that came from my day before Winter walk and I’ll remember with all my heart, my words to a friend just yesterday. 

Winter comes to let what needs to fade, fade away so that the new in you can be fully new. 

Writing, painting, leaning in and pressing, ever pressing toward the story on the back curve of the arc that’s known redemption. 

And just longs to share it.

That’s all, the longing that won’t let itself be discarded.

Advent and Art

Advent, Christmas, courage, Faith, hope, patience, Redemption, Trust, waiting

We wait with hope.

I sat and doodled an idea, divided my journal page into four squares then sketched a figure with subtle wings in each. I added the four words, four mindsets to grasp as Christmas Day gets closer: hope, peace, joy, love.

I decided not to create new artwork but to find photos of old paintings. I was reminded I’ve been painting female figures, sometimes angelic for quite some time.

Women in contemplation, often perceived as “sad”. It reminds me that I’m sometimes seen that way and I typically answer,

“No, I’m just thinking.”

Thinking more than speaking, thinking of so many inexpressible hopes, dreams and often, fears.

I remembered this morning that hope deferred breaks a heart. Hope decided not to put more hope in only leaves us looking to fill a void. But, a dream pursued, held onto like a jewel leads to a beautiful song.

Like faith, hope is a mystery, a beautiful and invisible thing that holds more value than anything we can know, achieve or experience.

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭11‬:‭1‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Held

Abuse Survivor, bravery, contentment, courage, curiousity, Faith, Forgiveness, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, surrender, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

The empty lot on the street lined with homes is the home for the leaning tree.

The branches are thick and twisted, gnarly but producing papery leaves on wiry branches.

Long before the homes took up space here, the road was hard and dusty, clay.

My children were small and we walked like explorers down the road. Once or twice, the hills were covered in snow and they slid and fell and ran around in thick socks tucked down in tennis shoes, makeshift boots for children of the South.

I walked past this tree yesterday. The subdivision neighbors all know me I suppose, that woman who looks at the clouds, the one who walks very fast, the one not inclined to stop and chat.

I noticed the tree the day after I’d read about God’s response to Adam and his wife Eve.

I read of how God responded by making them clothing from animal skins to replace the covering they’d contrived in shame that was made of scratchy leaves.

I spent some time reminding myself of the interactions, of the course of Eve and Adam’s recognition of mistake and of their shame.

“And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” But the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭2‬-‭6‬ ‭ESV‬‬

In the garden, Eve succumbed to the need to know more than she needed to know, to know more than was necessary for thriving.

God had provided everything.

She wasn’t quite sure, I suppose. She wanted to know more and wanted more.

The tone of God’s voice in response is sternly disappointed. The course of life changed not just for them but for everyone.

I wonder if God just wondered, is everything I’ve provided not enough?

They knew quickly that they were changed and with that realization came shame.

“Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths. And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God among the trees of the garden.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭7‬-‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

God responded.

This part of scripture is the one that brought me to tears, the provision of God in their time, although a rebellious time of need.

Sometimes I think we carry the most memorable parts of God’s story and use those passages as guidance while only occasionally remembering the mercy of God.

Maybe not you, sometimes me.

I imagine the remorse of Eve.

I can see her standing there trying to undo her mistake. I envision Adam hearing her out, she just wanted to help them be prepared…

If God gave us all of these things in this environment, surely it’s okay if we “ask for help” in the places we need, all of this is new, we need a way to go forward, the future, the present, the what on earth are we expected to do next?

Surely, it was okay to be as wise as God, she must’ve decided.

God asks “Why?”.

He then unveils the consequences of their questioning of knowing “just enough” and that knowing being enough, being His plan.

Then we learn of Eve being named, a beautifully significant name. And we read of God’s response to the couple covered in fig leaves,

Lovingly responding with provision.

“He said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten of the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?” The man called his wife’s name Eve, because she was the mother of all living. And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them.”
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭11‬, ‭20‬-‭21‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I had been dwelling on this passage for a few days when I paused in front of the ancient tree. I thought how odd it must seem that I find its barrenness so compelling.

This tree with nothing but age and no evidence of fruit still exists to remind me of purpose, of the beauty of acceptance of what lingers and what fades, what can be acknowledged as contributing to decline, what might cause shame in light of decisions made and how despite of and because of every bit, still I’m met with grace.

And I’m clothed with God’s love, a softly wrapped tapestry of all my troubles, my questions, his responses, my weaknesses made stronger in their being unhidden, being discovered although desperately hoping they’d go unexposed.

I am found and responded to.

I’m Eve recognizing “some things are not for me to know” and I’m dressed in a more splendid covering than a hurried and shamefully placed fix.

I’m clothed in a robe of redemption.

It’s layered with old scraps of mistakes and shame threaded together so that I remember, with velvety golden threads of rescue, of help, of redirection.

How has God responded to you?

Remember the times you’ve been found, covered and loved.

Held back up gently when you’ve fallen.

“My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭63‬:‭8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Wonderer

contentment, courage, curiousity, hope, memoir, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, worship, writing

“what are mere mortals that you should think about them, human beings that you should care for them?”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭8‬:‭4‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Just as clear as if I was there, my imagination created the communion of two friends in awe.

I might have been sipping creamy coffee beside her. She would have offered food. It might have been a cracker spread with butter. It may have been just a sliver of lemon blueberry cake. Maybe nothing to eat, only coffee on her back porch.

My friend and I restfully watching her friend’s love offering, a surprise stop by to clean her backyard.

My friend is journaling after a bout of illness that wanted to linger, wanted desperately to break her heart and her spirit.

She told me that writing was helping.

“Yes, yes, I know.” I thought.

The wonder of a white rooster, a strange and sacred visitor has nudged me assuringly,

It’s time to write simply for writing’s sake, time to let sightings lead to thought again and to simply let thoughts become words.

Twice on the way to the country, a cup balanced on the steel railing under the overpass has caught my eye. A cup marked “Big Gulp” and almost full of some sort of dark cola.

I wondered how long it might remain a fixture to curious commuters like me. Would the wind or the over time passing of cars knock it over? Perhaps a big rig would cause the bridge to slightly shake and the motion might vibrate the railing.

Who left the cup there?

Were they walking and someone came along and opened the passenger door? Were they holding a sign and what was their story?

These are the directions my thoughts take me.

Strange?

I choose to call them sacred.

Wonder, I believe, is worship’s closest kin.

Pauses to think about the wonder of being open to wondering.

Back to rooster, a white one. I didn’t know white roosters existed.

My friend and her friend were reminiscing about a man who passed away too soon.

The white rooster appeared. They were surprised but, then not at all.

I walked outside one morning last week. I had noticed the unveiling of day, the distant ribbons of pink.

I nudged the dog and we stepped onto the cool damp grass. I pointed my phone in all sorts of angles then just let it rest in my palm as I watched the pink sky shift and fade.

Trying to capture the full measure of this sky, of beauty, of God’s greatness is too impossible for me, I decided.

Me, in pajamas, disheveled and maybe a hint apathetic, a seeker of grandeur, of sovereignty in my vicinity.

Called closer by the pink I’d never fully capture.

Beauty is never an accident.

Wonder never a waste.

God is everywhere. Allow yourself to notice and keep noticing.

Note to self,

Return to wonder influenced writing rather than writing for notice. It may take a minute. Take your time.

Seeing and Being Seen

Abuse Survivor, Art, artist calendar, bravery, calendar, Children, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, grandchildren, hope, obedience, Redemption, testimony, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, walking, wisdom, writing

Jesus Saw

My grandson wanted his mommy to stay home. It took a bit to help him get to a place of accepting it would be the two of us for just a bit. I held him close, hand on his back and my cheek against his head.

“I know. I know.” I said.

Homemade pizza for breakfast softened his little longing and then within minutes he said , “G’Ma let’s paint!” 

I painted. He continued his fascination with paper and Elmer’s glue. 

Earlier,  my not yet daylight drive brought thoughts that became a string of connectedness and a new way to see a longing I’ve always known. 

The longing to be seen.

Late afternoon now and I’m thinking of how the hurts we experience or the lack we may have known are parts of stories we do very well to come to terms with even if we’re never able to make them make sense. 

I walked without sound other than the leaves rustled up by the wind. I realized I should never go back to noise in my ears on my walks again. 

I’m beginning to think more clearly, to love making sense of things and then putting words to them. To love writing again. (Doing my best to have intentionality in writing here)

A memory came as I walked. One so clear it could’ve been that very October day so many years ago.

There are countless memories I can’t grasp and I’m afraid even more I wish my mind would loosen its grip on. 

I told a friend yesterday that I often think of quitting when it comes to creative expression. I told her I knew I could not. I knew I never would. I knew it might always be a painful thorn for me, the reality of the way it pains me emotionally to feel unseen, worse yet ignored or rejected. 

I know the reasons why and that knowing helps me take very good care of this tender ache. All the same, I wish it did not pain me so after so very long. 

I remembered that memory too hard to share, better kept to myself and I told myself gently it’s a gracious miracle that you are here and that you’re an artist. 

And that little chat with myself as I walked is a beautiful truth.

I certainly know it’s only my “being seen and known” by God all along the way that has both equipped me and generously given so very much. 

I heard two women on a podcast today talking about mountains and valleys. I heard one talk about Moses not making it to the promised land after all he’d struggled to do in obedience and all the years of wilderness wandering with people he was called to lead who were not always grateful followers. 

The podcast hosts talked of how that seemed to them so very wrong, so unfair to Moses. But who are they, who are we to get to decide how far God will let someone’s dream/calling come to fruition? 

After all, God is God and we are not. 

I listened as the woman continued. She had a catch in her voice as she began to share the realization that gave her immeasurable hope. 

She read about another time Moses is mentioned. This time he is right beside Elijah and alongside Jesus as our Father God proclaimed, “This is my Son”. 

And so, the realization came that after forty earthly years, Moses did not enter the promised land but we get to be sure he made it. The promise was fulfilled. 

I remembered this podcast while walking and I remember driving back home on the same “grandma day” road as I felt my eyes become wet with tears. 

A thought came. 

I will be painting in heaven, in heaven I will paint. 

I remembered the early morning thought alongside this confidence. I thought of my longing to be seen, how I’m trying to understand the need in ways that I can grow from. 

Three people came to mind. The man paralyzed on a mat, Zacchaeus, and the woman with the blood stained clothes. 

I thought of the man lying flat on his back while others bathed in a pool that led to healing. Because he’d been an invalid for so many years I wondered if there were days others tried to either convince him to try or actually helped him into the water and then, after a while he’d developed a reputation. Maybe onlookers concluded he’d accepted his debilitating condition, no need to try, just look away.

But, Jesus came one day and told him, “Get up”. Sort of I know you’ve been here a long time and it makes no sense now to try, but I see you. I want you to try. 

“Jesus saw him laying there…” John 5:6-7

I think of a tax collector, a man with a reputation who maybe wanted to undo all of his greed motivated wrongs. A man climbed a tree just to see Jesus. Jesus looked up. Jesus saw him and changed his life. 

“And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up…”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭19‬:‭5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I think about the woman in blood covered garments in the midst of a curious throng. She didn’t want to be noticed by anyone, just get close to Jesus. No one paused to see her, a woman desperate and dirty. But, Jesus felt her reaching for him and then he turned and saw her. 

“Jesus turned, and seeing her he said, “Take heart, daughter…”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭9‬:‭22‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’ve just finished up three collages layered deeply with torn paper and another painting has been sealed. My idea for abstracts telling the story of God’s enclosure of us in His fold is in the initial brushstroke phase. 

I’ve just proofed the 2026 Calendar and I’m a bit joyous over its beauty. Even more over the hope that the artwork inspired by “Whatever is lovely…” (Philippians 4:6-9) will be a hopeful mainstay for others. 

You can purchase a calendar here:

2026 Calendar

“Artist and writer”, a tagline on a letter I just sent as an introduction to my writing hopes. 

I won’t lose heart. I will always hope and hope I see others in ways that they need.

I pray my words and my art offer hope.

Fourth Quarter Thoughts

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

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.

Lisa Anne Tindal Art

Come What May

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, love, memoir, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder, writing
The Second Blooms

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.”

(Available here: https://thescoutedstudio.com/collections/art )

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.

Always hope,

Lisa (Anne)

Words and Art

aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, hope, memoir, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing

Happenstance and Heroes

Before I lean more into words than art, I have a couple of important reminders more art. 

The Summer Sales, one through The Scouted Studio ends on Sunday (20% off sitewide) 

https://thescoutedstudio.com/

and the Summer Sale on my website (30 % off sitewide) ends on June 30th. (Code JUNE30)

https://www.lisaannetindal.me/

I’m transitioning website platforms gradually and will be deleting some smaller artwork. Also, if my website looks a little “wonky” just know changes are in progress.

Now, to the “words part”. I’m working diligently on two writing projects. A prayer for both “Lisa’s writing” things would be great if I cross your mind.

Before I return to finishing an important part in one, I wanna tell you about some words that found me first thing.

Not always, but most mornings I open a small and well work paperback book. It was given to me by my cousin. She has one and remembers her mama having one too.

“Joy & Strength” by Mary Wilder Tileston is a compilation of scripture accompanied with thoughts of ancient women and men. The thoughts are often poetic. They are often hard to follow because of the way writers and writing have changed over time. Brevity wasn’t required back then, I suppose and some of the sentences are more like paragraphs. (Just an observation, not at all relevant to this sharing)

I turned to June 26 and read a verse from the Psalms. The thin pages of the index, separated from the book and tucked inside the fold of today, caught my attention.

One name, Anna R. B. Lindsay. Unlike other names in the index, the only date included is the publication year, 1893.

“Anna”, I thought. “I want to see what a woman named Anna had to say.” I turned the solitary quote, page 47, meant to be read on February 16.

“Let us examine our capacities and gifts, and then put them to the best use we may. As our own view of life is of necessity partial, I do not find that we can do better than to put them absolutely in God’s hand, and look to Him for direction of our life-energy.

God can do great things with our lives, if we but give them to Him in sincerity.

He can make them useful, uplifting, heroic.

God never wastes anything.

God never forgets anything.

God never loses anything.

As long as we live we have work to do. We shall never be too old for it, nor too feeble.

Illness, weakness, fatigue, sorrow …none of these things can excuse us from this work of ours.

That we are alive today is proof positive that God has something for us to do today.”

Anna Robertson Brown Lindsay

Just Anna I’ll call her because, Mannnn!, she feels like a wise and sweet sit down with friend.

You think so too?

If Anna from the 1800’s knew there were things for only her to do, how could we disagree with her that for each of us, the same is true.

What will you believe you can actually do and take the tiniest step that leads you there and strengthens your believing.

You’re not too old. (got that, Lisa?)

You’re not too weak.

You’re not bound by your before.

You’re actually “heroic” simply for doing and believing.

Thanks for being here. I hope you can see, writing and art, art and writing. Both are vital, complementary and comforting.

God says so. Who am I to disagree?

Now go and be heroic today!

In quiet confidence,

Lisa (Anne)

P.S. if you’re one of a few in just a couple of weeks who’ve sent me strong and supportive notes, I sure do love you!

P.P.S. I’m inconsistent here and some of you still read. I’m grateful for you.

Curiosity

Abuse Survivor, aging, courage, curiousity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder
Old House and Fallen Oak

A beautiful oak ushered me on, a canopy over the country road. I wanted to slow.  I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before or why it comforted me so.

Curiosity is a cousin to wonder. A call to examine whatever captivates or corners you, an invitation, a leaning in with inquisition. 

Even fascination.

What if we could be curious not over only beautiful things, but the bitter things too? 

Curious over pain, over unpreparedness for hurt, over horrible things that shouldn’t have happened to us? 

What if we accept that understanding may or may not ever come fully? 

If we’d consider the possibility that curiosity is the entry into a continuum that initiates and begins a relationship with healing. 

We may be the catalysts for our very own, deeply personal healing. 

And if we will invite curiosity, we’ll begin a new search, one with maturity.

We may be able to see every perspective, not just our own. 

We may be able to see through the eyes of the others involved, how pain of their own unintentionally resulted in ours. 

We may, most importantly, stop berating ourselves why and decide,

Okay, now I see sort of why and I believe I’ll move on to “what now?”

And for the unexplainable horrible things? 

Perhaps, we could consider embracing them rather than stubbornly and with great force, doing our best to erase them, the unerasable wounds. 

Because as we embrace our hurt, we at last find we are worthy of being embraced by ourselves.

Every hard and wonderful thing can become embraceable rather than erased.

I drove on down the pretty morning road to approach the old white weathered house on the curve, the one I love to imagine made new.

The one flanked by a massive tree trunk and all its dying limbs now gray and fading away. 

Why one oak thrives and the other got uprooted and thrown to the ground,

No way to know. No way at all. 

Only to be curiously aware and to live with deep longing, a longing that is always known even if it lingers long. 

“You know what I long for, Lord; you hear my every sigh.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭38‬:‭9‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Embrace all your longings to know. Be curious and thrive.

Answers in the Night

Abuse Survivor, aging, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, curiousity, family, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

Day 66 of 100 days of art from the margins of my Bible. (An Instagram Creativity Challenge)

“Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭23‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

A sketch from long ago met me here today and I lingered for a moment and then happy to see I’d not added pen, erased it. I didn’t need the reminder, I decided, of how I’d chronicled hopelessness.

So, I added a tall figure, my favorite blues and then reread the verse. Alongside her there’s a figure walking away. Maybe representing a shadow of who I was. We all have shadow selves, they’re hateful reminders.

I suppose I’m so vulnerable here only because as I’ve said many times before…

God gives me thoughts and words and I simply decide to share them thinking someone else may need them to.

I don’t know what you lean toward hopelessness over, what you’re struggling with or waiting for to see as the benefit of not losing hope.

I just know the things we hope for are incomparable to the things we have likely already seen and known as evidence of our hope and that there is so much more to come.

God woke me with another verse. I went to bed a little uncertain of outcomes and to be honest a little angry with myself over something small.

Sometime before dawn, I had a dream about a painting covered in small pieces of paper that were no longer folded…but, open.

And a verse…

“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
‭‭2 Corinthians‬ ‭3‬:‭18‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Reminding me of the source of our hope and all the hope meant for us if we’d only open our eyes, look up, look around…hope being revealed.

So, today…always hope, maybe in a different way, one more aligned with His Spirit within, not “without” you in circumstances, people or things.

You are loved. Lift up your eyes. I will too.