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.
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
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:” Ecclesiastes 3:1 ESV
Before sleep, I rethought the day. All the places and things squeezed in, the storms, the back country roads to my people, my childhood territory.
My aunt caring for my uncle, prone now to suddenly falling. His sweet conversation comparing himself to his soon to be ninety year old brother who “falls more.”
My aunt with her pink soft shirt, leopard print loafers and nice coral colored lipstick lips
I remembered my daughter describing my grandson’s tumble off the porch.
I remembered her saying he cried and was scared but wasn’t hurt.
He likely will fall again.
Likely, my uncle will too,
Unfortunately.
I remembered my granddaughter’s sweet smile. I recalled her intuition.
I drifted to sleep knowing I’d need to decide on an artist trip, an adventure I could learn from the anticipated mostly younger artists.
I thought of the wavering of my feelings.
I remembered a word I read early in the morning.
“There comes a moment when you throw caution to the wind. There comes a moment when you need to go all in.” Mark Batterson
I strangely thought of resilience, of being strong and sure in “my walking” while there’s time.
Because life is so wrought with fragility, likely to include falling and deciding to remember,
The first sketches I sketched as a young girl, were of trees.
I never thought I’d paint any other subject. I’m still surprised over the peace I experience in the process of portraying postures of women, redemptive,
It feeds my soul.
Tall pines, big oaks, pecan laden and my favorite in my grandmother’s front yard …the shade providing chinaberry.
Trees are complex. They aren’t easy to capture the likeness of.
I sat quietly in my “morning spot”, a chair in the corner of the living room, a chair that was my mama’s, that was fancy for her double-wide in the country.
She’d bought it at a yard sale. I grabbed it up quickly when she died, I wanted it to live with me, I wanted the beauty of her choosing a fancy chair for her not fancy home, to be something I would never forget.
In a way, a seed she left for me to believe that a life can be pretty despite poverty, that there is always opportunity to believe in finding beautiful things.
I’ve had that chair since 2010. I have heard from God sitting there, thoughts formed, hopes and solutions have come.
I have prayed, I have cried, I have napped from exhaustion sitting straight up in this chair.
Before I knew, was tenderly surprised to be asked to speak here, God told me one morning, in a reply to my heart’s longing to know why it seemed I would never be enough, never achieve enough, never be able to see myself as healed and not a victim of so much and so many things.
The words from God, the gentle awakening?
“Lisa, your soil is not healthy.”
Time passed and I sort of tossed the thought around. Thought of all the things I had planted through my life, my children, my marriage, my work for others, my art, my sharing of my words…
“Seeds” in a way, efforts and actual accomplishments that I contributed to the soil of my life, the things that were from my heart and my soul.
The truth of that very odd thought, my soil not being healthy,
simply would not fade.
Months from the first wrestling to understand the meaning, I have begun to make sense of the strange statement.
So, I want us to consider whether our soil is healthy.
I googled “healthy soil” and “what causes trees to die.”
One answer drew me closer.
THE SOIL MAY BE COMPLICATED.
I made a list of complicated seeds in the soil of my life.
One list, things and circumstances beyond my control, even generational curses and a second list of traits, qualities and choices I have planted and continue to plant.
I realized there were a whole bunch of seeds that needed to die, no longer needed my failing attempts to bring life from brittle seeds or to keep nourishing and watering what I selfishly or naively chose to decide had to live forever…
there were seeds of my sadness that needed to die.
There are seeds of my history that I’ve let mark and destroy my hope for far too long.
Consider with me, what your soil, your soul is full of, seeds planted in you beyond your control and marked by sadness, trauma or likelihoods of how you might or might not grow.
Then consider what you’ve planted, tried to force the growth of or coddled and overwatered…
something that needs to be let go.
Because it’s not so much the THINGS that destroy us, stunt our growth, It’s the THING(S) UNDER THE THING(S)!
The seeds entangled in our roots.
My list:
This process requires bravery. I’ll be brave first.
SEEDS THAT MUST DIE TO ALLOW GROW
• SHAME that dies becomes freedom to live.
• SELF-DESTRUCTIVE PATTERNS that are put to death give permission to receive abundantly and to believe you’re worthy to.
• UNWORTHINESS that dies leads to confidence/confident in God not others.
• ABANDONMENT that is allowed to die and be grieved leads to deeper trust and intimacy in relationships.
• VICTIM MENTALITY finally laid down leads to an ease in living and breathing and to breaking generational cycles, a legacy of safety and love uncompromised by negative mindsets.
• FEAR that doesn’t live but dies builds courage (quiet confidence is your strength, this is the way) keep moving steadily forward.
• NEED TO CONTROL given up from an unclenched grip to let die leads to surrender (open hand to heaven).
• BITTERNESS disallowed and put to death yields mercy toward others.
• JEALOUSY that’s snuffed out before it grows invites kindness and sincerity in our thoughts and words.
• COMPARISON that ceases breathing gives breath to abiding oneness and ownership of the uniqueness of you.
I began to research what the Bible says about seeds and found many passages. I’ll just stick to the one familiar to many.
The Parable of the Seeds (the first recorded parable)
“And he was teaching them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil.
And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away.
Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain.
And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” Mark 4:2, 4-8 ESV
God is sovereign and very aware of the times, every detail of our lives.
When I began thinking of what to share in speaking to women, I had no plan to write about my mama’s chair or the beautiful growth I might see as I surrendered the seed of grief attached to the story of an old yard sale chair and allowed myself to see the beauty of me possessing it.
On the outside and above the gnarled and tangled roots, our lives like a tree may be spectacular or just seem healthy and vibrant.
In time though, the “COMPLICATED” soil of our souls may lead to decay, destruction, and depression.
Every time we share our vulnerabilities lined up with our hopes for healing, we point someone else toward the path of fullness, light and redemption that they glimpse in us.
Truths on the significance of the soil of my soul being healthy, free of the thorns of despair or despondency over past wounds continue to reveal themselves to me.
Walking with my grandson, on the rocky clay road bordered by deep ditches and steep hills covered in brilliant moss, music from my phone in the atmosphere…I paused to shake off a heavy mood.
I quoted to myself a verse that’s meant to turn the tide, a proclamation…
No weapon formed against me shall prosper.
And I walked on, pushing the stroller, the little strawberry blonde head in my view, a pair of tiny feet bouncing to the beat of “Skip to My Loo”.
I walked slowly and thought…
But Lisa, what about the weapons you continue to turn on yourself.
And I stood still with the weight of that call to consider this truth.
Wounds are thorns that become tools, weapons of sorts for us to decide there’s no hope for us,
No outcome other than the expected one we’ve known, the time to grow is over
A life without woundedness is one you’ll never get to know.
There are some weapons we continue to use in fear because of proven past failures against the waiting patiently hope and permission to grow.
Wounds become weapons and weapons stunt our growth.
Wounds become weapons that we turn inward, that we decide are evidence that we’re not allowed to dream, disallowed from hope.
So ask yourself, message me and I’ll send you the tree as a prompt.
How healthy is my soil?
Which seeds are deep and should not be kept alive? Which seeds must die?
Is there woundedness in your life that you turn on yourself to stunt your growth, to destroy your hopes?
In quiet confidence is your strength…this is the way.
I sat in the back next to someone I don’t really know. We shared a casual conversation about pimento cheese spread. Surrounded by art, the meeting’s agenda would be sharing a YouTube film on “beauty”.
We were offered pencils and a piece of paper to jot down thoughts, told to prepare to share in a group discussion.
The poet/researcher in the video mentioned God’s creation, spoke of God’s intent for not only artists, but everyone, to recognize the power of beauty as a way to change us internally and then effect those around us.
The couple just in front of me looked towards one another often in a likemindedness that matched the word “bullshit” he wrote and held up in front of her (and me).
They exited early.
I listened as others gave feedback, sprinkled around the room were comments about architecture, about culture, about our community, about horses.
I thought to add to conversation, to suggest they all begin to notice color and to, if they felt led, to ask God in prayer to help them see color.
I planned to share how this practice and prayer has been a reset for me, spiritually and creatively.
No one had mentioned God.
Three times, maybe four, I raised my hand to be called on.
I wasn’t acknowledged and decided to stay silent.
That it was not a time to speak.
“ a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;” Ecclesiastes 3:7 ESV
To keep the peace I’d acquired and allow it to be a presence without words.
To possibly be peace to others without using my words.
“Did I but live nearer to God, I could be of so much more help.” George Hodges
This morning, a guest blog post on an author’s site has been shared. My words, added to her community of others writing about “beholding our beauty” in the places life places us. I was just so grateful to write inspired by Esther, her bravery and how bravery is a choice we can make every day, even if with uncertainty.
I encourage you to read not only my thoughts, but to engage in this community that Deborah Rutherford is so intentionally building.
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 2 Corinthians 4:8 NIV
I reached down to be sure what his little hand clutched. A tiny pebble under close inspection before he stood and let it go, flinging it with strong conviction into the wide grey sky.
We began our walk hoping to miss the rain.
We did.
The trail is new. The path is hilly but smooth, a firebreak for the wide field of brush and trees.
I had a sense I’d been trying to shake all morning, a feeling that even though all was okay, I better be ready for the day to change, for something to go the other way.
I’m writing less about my trauma, a blend of keeping quiet and of looking more closely at wounds than ever before.
Like a little boy inspecting a pebble or stick, I’ve been quietly inspecting the hurts I’ve known in a much more intentional way.
With brave curiosity and braver acceptance…stages of grief.
So, that ache of readying to be ready for something bad is familiar and not at all friendly.
We walked and held hands and watched from a distance
Until the gift of freedom and hope ignited the sweet “setting out” on his own steps of my grandson.
And the weight of worry began to lift.
And I breathed deeply.
Looked around.
Looked up.
Prayed silently.
Added music to our walk.
Reached down with curiosity to touch a mottled leaf to discover the other side, rich in the color of fresh blood, of wine, vibrant.
I slipped it in my pocket, little “H” reached for me, both arms up and I responded as we turned for home.
Sensing the comfort of God, the assurance my fears and protective patterns are not hidden, are well known
And nurtured by God in a way that no longer leads to shame.
My vulnerabilities with God are no longer perceived fodder for Him to refute my faith.
Instead, an invitation to grace and bravery
mercy extended to me by myself.
“Grandma day” mornings begin early. My quiet time is brief and blurry.
I opened my journal to jot February 28, 2024 to discover one sentence from yesterday.
“Jesus, help me to see you today.”
Knowing, suddenly He had.
He did.
The color red, the deep crimson colored leaf like aged wine had been poured for me, left in the dirt, on a long ago fallen leaf, a cup with just a sip waiting for me to drink.
I’d been asking to see color.
Yesterday, the request was different and the answer was love.
”Mercy, peace and love be yours in abundance.“ Jude 1:2 NIV
This morning, the 2024 Winter Launch of The Scouted Studio is available! The Scouted Studio
Search for me by “Search by Artist” or enjoy them all.
Beautiful art, creative and diverse artists are contributing.
Initially, my pieces were my trademark dark background, a bold color called “Payne’s Grey”. I struggled. The deadline was looming. I didn’t have peace and I did not feel hopeful as I sat sort of worried about what to do.
I listened to my intuition, my gut, the Holy Spirit and with many layers and small edits, the backgrounds became more pure, a soft ivory with hints of shadowy blues, a hint of a torn piece of paper from a Bible, the word “hope” in every hem…hidden.
Hope is hidden in each of us.
Another of the Twelve
This morning, I woke questioning whether I’d made a good decision for an upcoming art event or whether I had jumped too soon, chasing worthiness.
Four things happened.
I woke to a song’s lyrics’ “you’re not finished with me yet.”, the sunrise through the gauzy drapes, Psalm 119 in a memory telling me God is good, and another thought, “you make all things new.”
“Your extravagant kindness to me makes me want to follow your words even more! Teach me how to make good decisions, and give me revelation-light, for I believe in your commands. Before I was humbled I used to always wander astray, but now I see the wisdom of your words. Everything you do is beautiful, flowing from your goodness; teach me the power of your wonderful words!“
Psalms 119:65-68 TPT
Then I created a cyclical graph to help it stick, the process for doing new things, things that may seem too scary, too uncomfortable or “too late” for you.
How to Do New Things
I’m certain this process is not just for artists. I hope it may help you. Feel free to keep it, share it, circle back when you need a reset.
On Sunday, a sunny day, my granddaughter and I spread out paper, scissors and ModPodge on a towel. We tore pieces of abstract paintings I loved but had not bought by someone or maybe I’d forgotten I loved them.
We used little strips and squares of color to tell new stories. To allow a new voice to be heard.
Keep living, keep learning.
How God speaks is another mystery that woke me on Monday in the dark, a nagging lack because of hearing others say “God told me.” or “I heard God speak”.
I’ve not experienced God in an audible way.
I’ve heard stories that blow my mind of people who’ve been in situations in need of hope or redirection and God spoke. I’ve read and heard He “speaks” through His Word, both gently and firmly instructive.
I’ve heard about the still and quiet voice that comes and I believe I understand this one well
Me being quiet with no searching for an answer and a thought comes…
Comes in reply to a question that’s been nagging at me.
Once, that voice whispered in my the hallows of my chest…
“It’s gonna be alright.” and the rightness of every worry in my life felt captured in that comfort of a promise. It was a strong promise. I still treasure it.
I smile over it.
This morning, words came and to sum it all up, the words were
“Just keep learning.”
An encounter with a woman I knew from my executive days planted the seed from which this desire has begun slowly growing.
She noticed my artwork and then as she passed through the crowd to leave, said across the room…
“I just read your story.”
I was confused. How did she read the “Artist Story” I sometimes point to when people ask, “How’d you become an artist?”
Later, I realized she’d only read the sweet story of the “cake with you Mama day”.
And, I realized slowly, I was happy that’s the only story she’d read.
This morning, I thought, sensed the coming together of thoughts and God speaking…
It’s been enough time now, enough time has passed.
The story of how you “came back to painting” no longer needs to include the hard and horrible parts.
You’ve grown to dislike the telling of this story.
Instead, when asked, the answer could be…
I’ve been painting seriously about seven years and I keep growing and trying to make good choices.
I keep learning
And I am a student of that desire to keep learning. I have grown.
I am still growing. And that’s the only requirement that is given to me by myself…to be me as artist, writer, mother, wife, grandmother or friend…follower of Jesus.
To be brave enough
To keep learning.
(It may be time to add a chapter or replace the old one altogether, at least edit it with a pen called kindness.)
It may be time to “turn the page” to the beauty of my story with only a tiny nod to the ugly.
It may be time to stop circling back to the places you struggled, the places you failed and fell.
It may be time to say less.
It may be time to edit your story of whatever you’ve taken on as a measure of you finally not just battling in becoming
But arriving.
Motherhood Author Teacher Settled Career Wife Friend Ministry Leader Artist Chef Athlete
Nurse Husband Girlfriend Boyfriend Instructor of Others
Retiree simply “being a light” Aunt Uncle Counselor Advocate
Son
Musician Sharer of your life with others
Daughter
Student of whatever
You are arriving,
you can take a breath.
The only requirement God has is A decision to keep learning.
To imperfectly decide
not to give up.
And to do so with love.
“…It’s quite simple: Do what is fair and just to your neighbor, be compassionate and loyal in your love, And don’t take yourself too seriously— take God seriously.”
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 