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”
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.
“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.
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 sense God bringing a truth to me, a reminder or a nudge to consider the value of just a few words, often the words of Jesus and I just decide to share them, thinking someone else may need them too.”
This is my response when someone tells me my honest reflection or interpretation of scripture was timely for them.
Often, it is surprising.
“Go in Peace” feels like a gentle well wish, a suggestion or saying.
But it’s more like a commandment.
You came, you believed, you sought healing, you were healed.
You are healed.
Go in Peace.
To purchase this calendar dedicated to my granddaughters and every woman created to live freely in the embrace of God, to go in peace, click the link below.
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
It’s helps that it’s catchy, the wise words for remembering.
Listen, Lisa
Works I Love
I stepped lightly to assess where I may have gone wrong, rushed to edit, didn’t leave “well enough for now and maybe always” alone.
Now, I see.
I should’ve listened to that pull, the voice that said.
This is you.
This is good. Let it rest. Let it be.
There’s no need for a rush to redo. There is no expectation for anything other than that you listened.
Listened attentively.
Listened with no plan of action or scheme.
Listened for the opening that never comes like a bursting, more like an invitation.
Listen and learn.
Contribute to the redemption of where your listen wasn’t necessary at all or steered you wrong.
Remembering, you can’t hear the gentle tone of directions spoken if you’re thinking you got it on your own.
Listen and then, welcome your role in the redemption that made a mess and muddied your message.
Always a good one, led by patience and surrender.
“From of old no one has heard or perceived by the ear, no eye has seen a God besides you, who acts for those who wait for him.” Isaiah 64:4 ESV
My talents as a cook are hit or miss. I’m not a follower of recipes and so, sometimes what I think might be a good combination is actually not.
My husband will comment, “That was good, can you remember how you made it?”
I smile to myself, knowing only a few dishes are close to guaranteed goodness.
Spaghetti is one, quiche another.
Spinach and Sausage Quiche
Warm and cheesy.
Delicious before I begin today’s list of promised art things, some a tiny bit anxiety causing.
You can do hard things, Lisa.
It’s gonna be alright. You just enjoyed breakfast with extra cheesy creamy goodness and allowed yourself the nutrition, the comfort. You’re not consumed by your consumption.
You’re gonna be alright.
In quietness and confidence is your strength. Isaiah 30:15 NLT
(Today is processing calendar orders day. You can visit my website and click on the “Smaller Things” page to order one or a few and their on sale through October.)
Most of my life I’ve been nurtured by the pencil in hand, a piece of paper, a margin that invites.
Art sustains me.
A wise Dr. and author, Curt Thompson reminds often of attachment that we as children needed to be “seen, safe, soothed and secure” and that need is innate. We will always be in pursuit.
Embraced By Grace
Interestingly, adding color to paper and hinting at an emotion are when I feel these needs are known most and met.
How about you?
Is it art?
Music?
Prayer?
or something else.
I hope you know this “withness with God” often.
You are loved.
Even if the child in you lacked one of the “s”’s.
She’s still there, self-aware, surrendered and seeking solace in the sweet places she’s found herself
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 