Writing and Striving

aging, Art, bravery, confidence, creativity, doubt, Faith, hope, memoir, mercy, Prayer, Redemption, Truth, Vulnerability, walking, wisdom, writing

After about an hour, I stopped.

I decided it will be better, be okay if I do this some other time, some other day.

A savvy and successful young advisor has been advising on many new ways to “get my art in front of people”.

I was honest with her, attributed it to my age,

“I can’t keep up with all of “the things.” She suggests a schedule, the better use of and acceptance of AI.

I tell myself and others and her,

I don’t want it done for me without “me”. Plus, I don’t want to become so automated that I lose not just my voice but my ability to write in my very own honest voice.

Last night, seemingly out of the blue, a blog post was commented on. The post was nearly seven years old. I felt nostalgic. I felt the feelings back then, a story about a bird on a porch.

I also noticed I don’t write nearly as freely as before. I believe it’s the pressure. It’s the distractions, it’s the chasing after people to convince them to visit my artist website, it’s a subtle cojoling of readers to buy my art so that I will feel good enough.

Here’s the post that represents who I want to get back to:

https://lisaannetindal.com/2017/11/30/flying-parallel/

I can be hard of myself, I know.

It’s true I’m older, more busy, have grown as an artist and so am otherwise engaged.

Still, I want to find that sweet and wise voice again. I believe I will.

I also believe I’ll have to do some deciding of what to keep and what to let go, decide whether to let the stories I carry be too important to be used as fodder for my “growth”.

Deciding doing all the things is less important than doing the genuine things.

I ramble.

I stopped striving earlier today, technology causing me to fret. I stopped striving even though I wanted to share my art.

Paintings on paper inspired by old hymns. They’re a little bit abstract, the colors of coal and indigo with just a hint of coral against angular figures.

I want others to be affected by them the way my emotions softened as the end result came through.

Still, I stopped frantically forcing a reel.

Told myself once and again.

Cease striving.

I joined the Substack bandwagon and I’m on the fence as to whether to stay on board.

I hope to resume writing here. It’s always felt like home.

Time will tell. I’ll wait and see.

For now, here’s my voice on Substack. I’d love to know what you think.

https://open.substack.com/pub/lisaannetindal2/p/seeing-more-clearly?r=1eavkz&utm_medium=ios

Thanks for following along on this circuitous trip of my life and my art, both redemptive stories.

The Driver

courage, Faith, family, grief, hope, love, memoir, patience, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, surrender, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

The winding country road that takes me farther into the country is crowded most early mornings.

I’m driving away from the city, others are driving in. It’s a curvy road, headlights hitting me harshly and I just keep on.

My thumbs find the raised points on the steering wheel and so I just press in and look forward.

A bus or two will typically meet me. Often, I have to wait.

Last week in the cold rain I thought of the driver, the responsibility of safely moving those children from their homes to their schools and back home again.

I thought of the trusting children, stepping aboard and then sitting assuredly.

Christmas causes remembering.

I remembered my mother’s words.

Over a decade ago, the ICU conference room table had my siblings and I flanked by my mama and a doctor.

The doctor explained the mystery of my father’s condition, the possibility and lack of possibility.

The dialogue went longer than I believe was able to be heard. It all ran together muddled and mysterious.

My mother spoke in the moment of an anxious pause.

“Doctors are just practicing…practicing medicine. They don’t know. God is driving this train. Only He knows where it will go. We are just riding.”

I was with most of my family today. I saw the changes in us all.

I felt the feeling that next Christmas will be different.

I thought of my journal notes early this morning.

We don’t know our days and we don’t know exactly our ways. We are just travelers, passengers in a way…we choose to be joyous.

We often are worried. We approach danger. We encounter uncertain turns. We stay seated although we’d love to jump off and run. But we know we don’t fully know the way, so it’s best to sit still.

It’s best to remember we are the riders. God is the driver.

Last week, another day on the same country road I found myself behind a slow driver.

I wondered why she might be afraid or maybe just tired.

I did my best not to get close. I wondered where she had been.

This woman, sort of petite and with a posture of steel, driving so slowly I could see her.

I have no idea. I simply decided not to add to her question of how or where she may be going and whether she’d make it at all.

We don’t know the way. We’re passengers in the drivers seat but not really the drivers at all.

He knows the way, we aren’t able on our own.

Secret Things

aging, birthday, bravery, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder

There’s a verse I love that helps me make sense of both tragedy and unanswered questions…of longings for different.

“The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever…”
‭‭Deuteronomy‬ ‭29‬:‭29‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m standing in my kitchen remembering a verse I read earlier about “secrets”. A verse about the Lord hearing the cries of his children and also knowing the secret sorrows.

I pulled the big Bible from the shelf.

The one I gave my mama, New King James Version with hardly an underline or turned down corner or bookmark.

I’ve often wondered if she ever opened it or if she just accepted my gift because she knew I needed to give it, a gesture from a daughter hoping to help, to mend, to say something unexpressed.

I looked for the verse and then others I love to compare.

We all carry secret sorrows, longings too long expressed, spoken of so much we’ve exhausted the listeners.

Questions, emotions we cover because we “shouldn’t feel that way after so long or she’s just a dreamer”.

Today, if my mama were here she’d be eighty-six years old. She’s been gone for fifteen years.

I thought to watch the DVD given to us all from the funeral home and then put it back on the shelf.

I can’t really say why. It just felt best.

I have a roast cooking slowly in the oven, green beans very buttery and soon creamy mashed potatoes flavored with mayonnaise.

My husband will wake from overnight working to be met by this gesture.

That’s what I decided felt right on the day of mama’s birth.

That, and not rushing my day but opening again the burgundy large print Bible to the place where the Lord appeared to the amazement of Moses and assured him.

“…For I know their sufferings…” Exodus 3:7 NKJV

Closing the big Bible and deciding to leave it in a place beside me, a slip of paper fell out.

The sweetest thing, a little Sunday School coupon filled out by my daughter.

She’d printed the words and her name and then scratched both out to change her writing to cursive. 😊

It was a note telling me that along with other chores, she would “wash the dishes to honor God and me”.

And I began to feel the truth of being seen by her, the tender recollection of days as a mama that were both tired and trying.

They say the things we long for most that begin very early are

To be seen

To be soothed

To be secure.

Where do you feel you’re lacking? What is the secret ache you’re carrying?

What hurt needs soothing?

God sees you.

God offers a healing balm.

For me it was a note from my daughter that my mama kept tucked away,

the realization that my daughter’s a mama with just as kind and observant a daughter of her own.

Don’t look for answers, just know you are fully known and wait tender hearted and at rest for the evidences of love that will catch you by surprise.

God is everywhere. Don’t forget to notice.

Always

Remember, love lives on.

2025 Word

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, hope, memoir, painting, patience, Redemption, testimony, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, writing

Polished – My 2025 Word

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.

Miracles

Angels, contentment, courage, Faith, heaven, hope, memoir, patience, Prayer, Redemption, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom

I’m standing in the kitchen remembering my call to my aunt last night.

My uncle answered the phone. His voice was sweet as he told his wife, “It’s Lisa.”

I heard her sweet “oh” in the background and even heard the shuffling of her slippers.

She began. I listened. We talked for an hour. We caught up on our Christmas Days and recalled the gathering, crazy and loud she’d opened her home for the week before.

It was New Year’s Day and she told me through tears that she’d been thinking about her daughter, about New Year’s Day decades ago being the last time she saw her.

I told her I think of the weight of her loss so very often even though it is a loss I do not know.

Then she shifted and said, “Lisa, that ornament…” in her long slow and sweet drawl.

There were 25 (I think) of us gift exchangers that day in a crazy loud game we call “white elephant”.

The week before in an antique store, I spotted the same bejeweled ornaments my grandmother made long ago. I chose one from the three to be my Georgia “White Elephant” gift.

The game began, the grownups crowded and noisy in the living room. I believe my aunt’s number was 8 of 25.

She chose the nondescript paper bag with ribbon. I watched.

I smiled.

I called my granddaughter over and whispered in her ear…

“She’s got the special one.”

She smiled knowingly.

I watched across the room and my eyes met the gentle expression of my aunt.

“I can’t believe you chose that one, I can’t believe. I can’t.” I said.

Later she told me “that was God, Lisa.”

I said, “I know.”

Miracle : an extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs

The two of us stunned and a little bit oblivious to anything else in the room.

Last night, she told me she’d taken down her fabulous tree, carefully packed her ornaments away.

Except for bejeweled one.

This one, she said will be displayed with other treasures in her cabinet all year.

“We’re the same, Lisa.” she said. “We know about prayer and we know about patience.”

No one else understood or paused that day to see the gift as a “God thing”, a miracle.

Just Aunt Boo and I did.

As I stood in my kitchen this morning, the surest thought came.

We don’t see the miracles because somehow we’ve decided to not be amazed.

Amazed like my aunt and I were that day and in the days to follow.

Deciding it was a miracle, the last minute gift chosen by the one who’d most sweetly be excited.

“God is everywhere, don’t forget to notice.” me

Perception

Abuse Survivor, aging, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, grace, hope, memoir, New Year, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, surrender, Vulnerability, waiting, wisdom, wonder

An unexpected gift I was given on Christmas Day is now a morning ritual.

A voice like comfort responds to my ask. Her name is Alexa. I know you’ve probably known her for a bit. I’m just getting to know her.

Today is the third morning I’ve spoken into to the predawn darkness and asked for the “verse of the day”.

The first day the verse was from the Book of John, the words of Jesus telling the disciples not to worry. He was leaving but he’d be preparing a place, they’d be with Him soon.

I listened. My takeaway was the pure confidence in the words of Jesus and the accepted promise and confidence in the listeners who could not perceive all of it as certain truth.

The second day the verse came from John 16, the verse again in the words of Jesus, again with assurance but this time, an assurance of difficulties.

This morning, New Year’s Eve, I asked my little nightstand friend for the verse again.

Today’s verses? Isaiah 43:16-19

I thought, I know these by heart.

There’s a sketch in the margin here from years ago, a time marking the embrace of this promise.

“This is what the Lord says— he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters, who drew out the chariots and horses, the army and reinforcements together, and they lay there, never to rise again, extinguished, snuffed out like a wick: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”

‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43‬:‭16‬-‭19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

I know this passage. I’ve held it closely as a promise and I’ve used it often for not so gentle redirection.

Perceive: to obtain knowledge by the senses, to understand, to discern

“Do you not perceive it?”

These five words begged me to listen longer, to examine myself, to consider my perceptions.

How my perceptions of life past and present affect my influence.

My influencing others toward hope, toward peace and toward newness regardless of their past.

Because…

I can only influence others. I don’t bring change, only offer quietly, my influence.

I can and should assess the perceptions of others of me.

Do I love with pure intentions only?

Are my regrets sincere?

Do I surrender the impossibly hard feelings and things or do they wreak havoc on my influence, my presence?

Do I coddle my past like a sick baby needing constant attention or do I honor that past in light of my present wellness? Do I care for my past wounds from a healthy distance?

Our perceptions determine our influence.

What ways has God made a way for you?

What dried up and deserted places have been refreshed to flow like peaceful streams?

Are you focused on the old things, even as recent as yesterday, and worn blinders to obscure the new things springing up?

God loves you. You have a future.

Do you not perceive it? Isaiah 43:19

Happy New Year’s Eve.

Can you hear the voice of hope?

Listen closely and remember mostly, it’s a soft voice like morning light in the distance, a comforting whisper responding to your questions.

Gently calling and asking you to remember and keep remembering.

He giveth more grace. James 4:6

Christmas Children

Children, Christmas, christmas ornaments, daughters, Faith, family, hope, love, memoir, Motherhood, Peace, Redemption, sons, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder

Every morning except Christmas morning, my feet padded softly down the hall and to the outlet that powered the Christmas tree lights.

Then I’d touch the little button on the mantel garland and the soft lights shone sweetly.

On Christmas morning, the lights were left on all night before.

I’m thinking about the kindness of my husband’s gesture.

There was no talk of Santa, no cookies and milk for him, no carrots for the reindeer, no late night sneaking of gifts to the living room.

Still, the lights were shining because it was Christmas Eve.

And try as I might, I can’t not remember childhood Christmases. I both cherish them and with tender caution hold hard memories gently.

This Sunday morning, my whole house is quiet as the predicted stormy weather approaches.

As I do very often, I thought of my daughter and son, wondered what they were doing, hoping their days would be good.

I thought of who I am as a mother and what mothering has taught me. Naturally, a list formed.

Mothering

“I love you” has been spoken or typed without reservation .

I can always count on a weather report from my daughter.

I can enjoy dining out with my son.

I’ve learned to expect adventure, a few times I’ve been invited to tag along.

There will always be opportunity to both laugh at myself and to own my weaknesses.

I will never not secretly see them as little children at times and those times are gifts, precious surprises.

The certainty of their giftedness is a gift to me as is the certainty that they were gifted to me by God.

I think about such things.

Likely more so at Christmas. The solitude invites reflection and resulting epiphanies.

This year my tree will be up until January 7th.

Holding on until Epiphany, as I consider Jesus as a child.

For Jesus as child at Christmas and the child still in me as a mother, I’ll keep the tiny lights on.

Longer than ever before.

Boldly Quiet

aging, Art, bravery, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, creativity, curiousity, Faith, family, grace, grandchildren, hope, memoir, mercy, Peace, Prayer, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wisdom, wonder, worship

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”,

the second, “Light and Momentary”

and the third, “Have Hope”.

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.

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

Hope and Other Words

Abuse Survivor, Angels, Art, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, family, hope, memoir, painting, Prayer, Redemption, Stillness, Vulnerability, wonder

When I tweaked the words on the About page of my Artist website, I had really no idea of the reason.

I knew I wanted to “offer hope” to others through my paintings.

I also knew it wasn’t really within my power to produce hope for others.

Especially when I’d been in a season of waning hope.

Still, I embraced it as a brand, ordered stickers to use on my packaging and even put a sticker on the back window of my car.

I envisioned people passing by and in some small way, a little circle sticker might lead to a belief in the power of hope.

Sure, “Lisa Anne Tindal – Fine Art” is under the two words; but, my name is in the tiniest of fonts.

How do you feel about hope?

Is it just a fluttery little word like a tender feather or do you understand the weight of deciding its importance.

I’m beginning to see it more as a choice we can make, an outreached hand of goodness for the taking.

I’m beginning to understand that to “defer” hope doesn’t mean you decide “oh,well…maybe not”.

It means deciding to give up.

It’s so very easy to focus inward on all the secret longings and doubts, an inventory of inwardness. When I focus upward and outward, I notice things other than myself.

It’s a practice that seems small but makes a big difference.

What have you stopped hoping for?

God keeps bringing me to the phrase “deferred hope”.

Is there a secret you’re keeping? Are you doubtful and desperate but doing your best for others not to know?

Because God is a God of hope, if we postpone or decide there’s no hope, we’re essentially “deferring” our belief in God.

Hope today.

Decide to be intentionally hopeful that God is near, loves us and is only good.

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

For a woman who recalls little girl church being a place more of unbelonging than one of welcoming invitation, more of shouting than speaking…some words and concepts have always felt too special for me.

Being “consecrated” or living a life that can be defined as consecrated seems way too high and mighty and too out of my timid and torridly lived life to believe.

It was never taught that it was good to be strong, only honorable to be tiny and weak.

Last Saturday morning the house was quiet.

Ornaments I’d reimagined and repainted were laid out and tied with gold ribbon.

The morning light was pretty. I photographed them one by one on a white backdrop of poster board.

Carefully edited them and added to my website. Then I settled on the floor and moved to lie down, my face resting on the carpet.

I prayed an honest prayer:

“Lord, I consecrate these ornaments to you. I consecrate my art to you.

I don’t know what that means, Lord. It feels too out of my realm, too out of my reach. Still, I consecrate my life to you…even if it feels too special for me, too much for me to understand.”

I rose from the floor, gathered up all the pretty ornaments and moved to the next thing of the day.

Then the collection of Angel Ornaments, numbered 1-7 sold out in an hour.

I am beginning to understand the simplicity of simply giving something to God and going on with an internal hope.

To believe such pretty words could be mine to trust in.

Because deciding not to hope or deciding a life in rhythm with God is just too special and unattainable is deciding to live in scarcity

rather than abundance.

And it’s a choice we’re invited to make, never one made as the result of a harsh or heavy-handed or demanding God.

That’s the truth.

The truth we can believe.

“The consecrated life is a life let go of …a life that opens its heart and hands to the Sovereign God’s knowledge of me completely. The consecrated life trusts that the Maker of me knows me best and knows best.”

Maybe you’re still that little girl with the ingrained rants in your head that you’re just too impure, too damaged, too from the wrong side of the tracks, too destined to repeat the things genetics and environment said you would…

And maybe you have.

And maybe you survived it all.

The reason is that hope and that tiny flicker of purpose, the light that may have dimmed.

But never has and never will go out.

Let yourself let it shine.

Hope always.

Always hope.

Not a single one of us is unfit for being drawn closer to that consecrated life.

It’s a choice without exclusions or preselected expectations.

If hope “deferred” (decided against) makes our hearts sick, how much more well will we be if we believe in hope

If we “always hope”?

Hope does not put us to shame. Romans 5:5

The Encounter

Abuse Survivor, aging, bravery, courage, Faith, hope, memoir, patience, Redemption, rest, Stillness, Trust, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

“For thou art my lamp, O LORD: And the LORD will lighten my darkness.”
‭‭2 Samuel‬ ‭22‬:‭29‬ ‭KJV‬‬

I drove tentatively under the leaning trees, doing my best not to imagine the response I’d need in disaster.

Driving slowly thinking the weight of my car and the weight of me might lead to a shifting of the earth.

I crossed under the canopy of three frail leaning trees.

Glanced left and noticed a figure.

A small child of a deer had been watching.

Waiting for me.

We both paused.

Eyes met each other in the predawn light. I wanted to linger.

I thought of quietly opening my door, carefully stepping up the ditch to the edge of the cotton field.

I thought to get closer as a way to thank this beautiful creature that seemed to say…

“See, you are safe. You made it.”

It’s been a bit since I’ve written here. This morning, I decided I miss writing simply about noticing beauty, noticing God all around and then sharing those encounters. I’ve missed writing simply to preserve the noticing and express it through words. Timidly, I’m dipping my toes back into the hopes of writing more.

	Under the mask.. on Held
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Seeing and Being Seen
	Ray V. on Seeing and Being Seen
	Cathy Rigg on Come What May
	Lisa Anne Tindal on Curiosity