creativity

Choices We Make

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, fear, hope, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, surrender, traumatriggers, Vulnerability, wisdom, writing
Gazing at Beautiful

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.

Glimmers

Abuse Survivor, Art, birthday, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, obedience, painting, patience, Redemption, Vulnerability, walking, wonder, writing
Home

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.

What We Know

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, fear, hope, memoir, patience, Redemption, Trust, waiting, wisdom, writing

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,

Hiding Places

Abuse Survivor, anxiety, Art, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, patience, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder

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.

Quiet and Hidden

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.

“Sea Glass” trio

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.

With Joy

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/

About Fear

Art, Children, Children’s Books, courage, creativity, Faith, family, fear, hope, Peace, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, wisdom, wonder, writing
Illustrating Hope

A conversation about fear led to a thought. The thought led to paintings, vivid and strong in color. Some softer and cheerful and others heavy with darkness and harder emotion.

“The world is so scary…it makes lots of noises.”

Anxiety, uncertainty, anger and sadness are beginning to be noticed not as secretly kept struggles, instead as realities to consider more closely with kind and committed responses.

I’m hoping to traditionally publish this book for children to remind them that the earth and heavens were made by God just as they were and this truth can be an anchor in their storms that they are never alone.

“Yours is the day, yours also the night; you have established the heavenly lights and the sun.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭74‬:‭16‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Choosing Better

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, creativity, doubt, Faith, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mixed media painting, painting, patience, Peace, Redemption, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

Countless times I’ve known “goodness by surprise”, things continued and finished and left alone to develop or fizzle actually come back around to close the circle in response to that sort of open-ended question.

…let us run with patience the race set before us. Hebrews 12:1 KJV

in green pastures

I lifted the kitchen window. I’m home alone and it’s a Sunday morning rainy song.

Which do you think matters more

Skill or endurance?

Pursuit or acceptance?

I’m not a runner but I’ve heard pacing yourself is important.

Last night I dreamt I was running. It was a dream layered with threats and pursuit and one that ended with comfort.

Deeply personal and I guess likely will never be fully understood.

I opened my devotional to read an unknown author’s letter of encouragement to Christians during trials…words about endurance and about the things of life that entangle us and impede our ability to run the course set for us with peace and ease.

So many times, scripture seems nonsensical.

How is it humanly possible to run with patience?

I mean, isn’t the point of running to get there more quickly with faster dropping feet on the ground or pavement, of pushing past everyone else?

Or maybe the reason we run with patience is because there are no competitors in our race of life marked by our faith. It’s just us on our own pre-decided by our Maker trail.

The spirit of God invisible to others, but within and beside us.

A solitary race, an especially intense one not because of its importance, rather because of the very tender and personal reward.

Peace, often by surprise.

Peace that sometimes awes.

Run with patience the path that has been set for you alone.

Now, here’s the story of this I know.

Grandma, your angels…

This painting came to life after being layered and pondered many times. I’d been asked to “live paint” as an accompaniment to my artist story for a women’s event.

I was wise enough to choose the better, to not talk and paint at the same time. I’d tried that before and I decided to learn from what was not me nor easy.

So, this large piece traveled as a backdrop to my story of what had been not so easy lessons in my artist as business endeavors.

I spoke of how God was teaching me that my value was not acclaim, gallery shows, representation or sold out collections.

Rather, my value is my story of continuing.

Fast forward, I get all excited and choose this piece for a prestigious exhibit and am thrilled and a little too obviously excited when a couple decided it should be in their home…and then reconsidered.

Then, I submit “Of Lasting Value” as a part of my portfolio for an Emerging Artist Show.

Again, giddiness over the possibility of acceptance and “fame” convinced me I’d be “in”.

Not selected though and I’d actually decided not to enter this piece in a local show. I was so confident, I’d decided…well, I can’t enter it if it’s committed someplace else.

A simple decision, an afterthought led to entering it in the local show because of the tenderness of its story and it came full circle, a tearful surprise.

Of Lasting Value, detail

My husband and I entered the gallery for the opening reception and I scanned the room to find my paintings.

“There’s a ribbon on one of mine.” I said quietly, almost a whisper.

Then discovered and later heard the juror’s reason why

My painting had been selected, “Best in Show”.

Congratulatory chats continued and I told a friend, “There’s such a bigger significance to this for me.”

Later, I made a promise to myself, or I guess I should say a request of God.

Don’t let this fade, the blessing of this honor, the many layers to the story of me written by You

This affirmation clearly that I am your beloved, that I am loved by you, God.

I don’t know where the story of this painting will go from here, whether I’ll stop by the gallery to see a red dot saying she’ll be gracing someone’s home or whether she’ll be coming back to me.

I don’t know yet. I’ll be patient. I’ll keep walking with a stillness I can’t create or maintain on my own. I’ll be shepherded on this path I am on.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭23‬:‭2‬ ‭ESV‬‬

We stopped by the gallery, my granddaughter and I. We love to decide on a “favorite”.

We had the whole space to ourselves and after she’d pointed out “my angels”, said “Hurry, hurry, look” and turned the corner to gaze long at a brilliant painting of the ocean.

A textured piece with vividly and perfectly rendered sea grass with a background of water and sunset.

And this one, she told me was her favorite because it was “shiny”.

And I told her, my little artist and watcher of all things, just how spectacular I found it to be too.

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up.

And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭12‬:‭1‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Run with patience the path made for you.

Others are watching, not following, not chasing you.

Simply watching your pursuit of peace.

Not easy but better.

Continue and believe.

Oh, My Goodness

Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, Holy Spirit, hope, memoir, painting, Peace, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom

“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.

seeing goodness

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.

Abstraction

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

faith

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.

Resemblance

Art, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, family, grandchildren, hope, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

Walking, exhausted and walking, I thought about a storm I must’ve missed.

Fragments on the pavement, objects fallen and scattered.

I’d been away for three days.

Fern fronds, one facing upward the other folded, wilted. Similar, of the same family

Yet, different.

I’d just gotten home from two days with family, the aunt like my mama, cousins, siblings, nephews, nieces.

Grandchildren.

Shown off on social media, the celebration.

It happened again.

Someone said “she’s your mini me”, referring to my granddaughter, Elizabeth.

And it prompted me to think again

About resemblance.

I have two children, a daughter and a son.

One is fair, blonde hair, blue eyes and porcelain complexion prone to freckles.

The other, dark almost coal hair, brown eyes and a more easily bronzed complexion.

Still, I’ve heard through the years.

Oh, he/she looks so much like you!

Of course, I love the assessment.

Last week, I smiled as I saw the light in the eyes of an adopted child on her birthday.

This child, brown in complexion, parented by blondes I was fortunate to meet and be a part of their story.

I saw her mama’s smile. I recognized her father’s confidence in her shoulders.

Not genetic, not inherited.

I see my granddaughter and I see the glimmer of her grandmother, “Gamma” in her eyes. I see her daddy’s expression in her confident answers. I see her cousins’ smile in hers.

I see her mama in the freckles sprinkled across her nose and in her stubborn tenacity.

I see my heart when I see hers and I also see the heart of others.

And that’s what I’ve decided about resemblance…

It’s the heart that shows and the heart that knows.

One child can be seen as the echo of so many all at the same time.

Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, caregivers and protectors.

All of us, imparting resemblance.

It’s not the curve of the cheek, the tip of the nose, the color of the eyes or the way the lips turn above the chin.

Instead, it’s the imprint of love.

Less severe the likeness, more sweetness and nuance.

Love is the reason for the resemblance.

And resemblance is the evidence of that love.

Wildflowers, oak leaves and children.

The remnants of rhododendron.

All the same and on their own on display.

When others say my granddaughter is so much like me in her sweet little face

I know the resemblance is so far from physical and every bit

Spiritual.

The heart of me in her alongside the heart of others who love her.

A high compliment, I was once given and until now have kept secret,

“Your Bible could be in a museum one day.” D.W.

I paused in awe of his assertion, this skilled photographer who discovered me through the sketches I share from the margins of my Bible was quite convinced of this possibility.

I can only hope that if my Bible is found by someone when I’m long gone, that the gift of it finds them in the same lasting way.

That their response to God’s word catches them by surprise, that their reaction is a quiet and lasting one, a reaction that resembles mine.

On page 576 of my Crossway Journaling Bible they will find a sketch of a figure facing forward, she’s not small and her shoulders are bent in either thought or simply aged posture. Her hands are cupped in front of her and cascading behind her is a flow like a river that curves and grows larger.

She is pouring out all that’s within her, joy.

“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭12‬:‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

She is giving to others what she has gone searching for, drawn up from deep wells.

I pray I resemble her.

That I focus less on the outer aging, conflicted and overly burdened by activity me and that I consider the gifting inside me, not my gifts, talents, words or physical abilities.

Instead, I hope my life is a resemblance of joy.

Babies are born and bystanders ooh and ah as they decide who the nose, the eyes, the hands are from like a fun little challenging trivia game.

What matters less is who they resemble and more the ones God puts around them to contribute to the best of our ability what joys and gifts and graces deep within us that we embody and get to give them.

When someone says “ELB” looks like me, I smile because I know in that moment caught in a photo it’s not at all that we resemble.

Rather, it’s that the person who caught the moment on film also captured my joy and it was joy, not looks that were mirrored in a toddlers face.

Who resembles you?

Who do you resemble?

Years from now, a grandchild may flip through the thin pages of my Bible and I hope they find a drawing in the margin and say sort of quietly to themselves.

That’s me. That looks like me in that same story.

And rest in their hearts in this,

“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord, the Lord himself, is my strength and my defense; he has become my salvation.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭12‬:‭2‬ ‭NIV‬‬

Who resembles you?

Desire and Hope

Art, bravery, contentment, courage, creativity, Faith, family, hope, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.”
‭‭Psalm‬ ‭37‬:‭4‬ ‭ESV‬‬

What are the desires of your heart? Or as Jesus asked,

“And stopping, Jesus called them and said, “What do you want me to do for you?”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭20‬:‭32‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I keep a very old dictionary next to my morning spot. Its pages are thin from age and dark like dried clay.

I researched “delight” this morning, it’s a word that is defined as “to gratify or please greatly”, “high satisfaction”.

So, the psalmist tells us we will have whatever our hearts desire when we delight ourselves in God.

How do we delight in God? I think we set our hearts on pleasing Him and we couple it with joy that expresses to Him and others…”I’m satisfied with God.”

Then over time, our desires might surprise us or they may continue to be deeply important and personal, may seem like an impossible hope.

I get that.

I have a couple of those. But, my heart is at peace knowing, God knows and He has heard my prayers.

God knows the desires of my heart and He desires that I delight in Him…not just what I want. Maybe in a little while, what we desire most will be God and maybe that’s the discovery God knows we need and He’s so sweetly patient as we discover this ourselves.

He’s gentle and loving that way, isn’t He?

We can hope,have hope.

Not long ago, someone devastated by an injury and a woeful prognosis for her son had a tone of hopelessness in her voice.

And God brought a verse to mind.

I can tell you, this astounds me. Much of the Bible is still a mystery to me and I can’t recite the books in order or articulate truth accurately with confidence.

Still, there are things that pop up and I share them, the promises of God.

I told this mom that she could not stop hoping, that she couldn’t postpone, pack away or defer her hope.

That if she did, she would only be more heartbroken, heartsick and well, hopeless.

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.”
‭‭Proverbs‬ ‭13‬:‭12‬ ‭NLT‬‬

And as with every word I speak or write, every canvas I create, I’m telling myself the story first, the story of hoping.

The truth of a God who loves us, the embrace of a greater understanding of His faithfulness to love, protect and guide.

Desire and hope, such precious and fragile,

Secrets, mostly.

Don’t let go. Keep hope, wear it like a necklace. (I think that’s a verse). Treasure the knowing that your desires are fully known by the Maker who knew them way before you could.

Continue and believe.

You are loved.