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.
It’s the time of year that God allows a sprinkling here and there of soft green woven “pillows”. I know there’s a name for them. I can’t remember it. I just find them so pretty. I tiptoe around them, aware of what I see as fragility.
We walked carefully over the tangled vines and fallen branches. Toddler, Henry in his little boots smaller than my hand. I let him venture barely three steps away from me then wrapped him in my arms to be sure he didn’t high tail it to the place his curiosity was calling.
I heard the water, the creek too shielded by overgrowth to see and too uncertain for us to go seeking. So, we just circled round and round, he intent on going deeper in and me, scooping him up to walk where it was more safe and clear.
He resisted yielding again and again.
The unknown and interesting was a steady call to his little investigative mind.
As if to say, I need to know, I need to see, it must be really special, this place I can’t see, these things I don’t yet know.
Yet, it was too risky for us to go, too unsafe for him to go alone.
I wonder why there’s such resistance to yielding. Why I’m so prone to striking out on my own in fits of figure it out or fix it before it’s too late.
When all that’s required, all that’s an absolute undeserved gift,
Is to yield.
This morning, I flipped to today in “Jesus Calling”, a kind and beautifully patient collection of words I’ll carry as I go, one open hand to heaven and the other secretly imagining my hand like a child’s reaching up again to the suggestion of my Savior,
“Hold my hand.”
“As you keep your focus on Me, I form you into the one I desire you to be. Your part is to yield to My creative work in you, neither resisting it nor trying to speed it up. Enjoy the tempo of a God-breathed life by letting Me set the pace. Hold My hand in childlike trust, and the way before you will open up step by step.”
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.
Yesterday, G’Pa announced to Elizabeth and I that he’d never seen the creek. The land is deep and wide around their home and down in the valley on the edge there’s a pretty little creek. I said “We should go see it” and then quickly G’Pa and I said no. It seemed risky I guess. It’d be a big production to get boots on, be sure the grandbabies could be carried safely and even more to remember exactly how to get there when I’d only been once.
Back then, I was fascinated by its beauty, this secret place worth pursuing.
But, we probably made the best choice, two sixty-something year olds striking out on an adventure with a four and one year old. We’ll go maybe with extra help to guide us soon. It’s not something we should do on our own.
Life has things for us to do, scary and uncertain, maybe little secrets that require bravery.
”Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.“ Isaiah 41:10 NLT
God woke me up with the thought of His Sovereignty, the reality that wherever I am,
He is too.
I put the thoughts together before daylight, remembering the idea of second children’s book about fear that I had kinda shelved away. It seems the idea might be calling my name to remember and revisit it.
With these new thoughts about walking into obscure and beautiful places even if scary:
I will go if you go. Through the brittle winter field
And into the forest Up the hill and down the
hill to the slippery spaces and up the hill again
Around the corner and careful
don’t step on the vines
with sticky sharp thorns and then the water round the corner will appear
“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.
I’m reading a book my sister recommended and thinking there was a time I would never have read it.
A struggle between good and evil would’ve decidedly led to me deciding it was evil and putting it on the shelf, washing my hands of it.
The author can’t decide whether she believes God exists.
It wouldn’t be hatred of her or even judgment that would’ve have led to my banning of her book, of her.
It would be a tangible fear, a fear that the thoughts and questions of another might somehow taint my mind, lead me forever astray.
I might “be in trouble”.
You see, there are choices embedded in me, pounded into my head and heart by the angry preacher yelling at me, a chubby adolescent, an intimidated child who just wanted to belong.
To be safe and loved.
And learned to believe that according to God, to belong meant finding wrong in others, telling them about their sin and then never ever associating with such a person.
That’s why I still have this fear that a writer or just a person different than me, might somehow have the special powers to lure me, change me, make me unacceptable to God.
To be unlovable.
I think often of how this fear of being not faith filled enough, about being certain of being right and all the others wrong
Kinda caused me to make some unkind conclusions about others.
To utter unkind words.
Thinking their faith was false when I had no idea or evidence of such.
It was just a response that came from a mark left on a little girl.
Girl becoming a woman seeking perfection to avoid shame, girl becoming woman who waited to be condemned, never comforted.
Girl becoming a woman who always felt but only recently told God so…
“I feel like you’re punishing me, God.”
A woman with a tear soaked face who rose from the floor better for telling God so.
Sensing Him say, “I knew you felt that way, now you’re feeling better already because you weren’t afraid to tell me.”
And that feeling was very certain. God, you love me after all.
The author, Kelly Corrigan in her chapter of her book “Tell Me More” explores the simple response, “I don’t know.”
And it’s an honest choice she expresses.
A private one too.
I’m certain of God’s love. I have more reasons than that memoir idea I keep dancing around would have space for.
I do believe.
It’s a choice and on questioning days I ask God with raw honesty, the questions I used to believe I’d go straight to Hell for even having.
My faith is a winding path, has been mostly.
But, I’m beginning to notice with certainty that the path is becoming more simple, more solid, more sure.
And I’m certain that straightaway road has come in gradual honesty, brave questions and a settled stillness to open my heart and mind, no longer afraid to wonder.
Continue and believe.
Your life, every bit of it is your teacher, your listening and patient guide.
I barely missed a couple of deer. Now that morning is coming sooner, I was less observant, less cautious.
Less expectant.
The couple ran together to my left in the harvested corn field. Flying through the air it seemed.
Yes, like dusty brown doves, not deer.
When the timing was right, they danced over the road in front of me just as the curve turned right to my daughter’s home.
Then, I watched expectantly for them to run back the other way, to cross the lane to the more wooded field.
But, they didn’t. They must’ve decided to continue to a better place, maybe one that felt safer.
Possibly down in the corner, the valley near the creek.
The spot I’ve set my gaze on from the kitchen window.
The place where just one tall tree in the mix of many beckons me to be still.
To notice the vivid gold.
When I understand the meaning of hope without knowing, simply hoping.
I can live expectantly.
Not expectant of celebratory good nor of sorrowful negative or even tragic.
I can understand hope as being a promise that will be kept because the Spirit of God knows.
Knows my longings. Knows me.
Knows all.
“But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.
For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.
And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.
And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called
according to his purpose.” Romans 8:25-28 ESV
Often, I’ve remembered the words that instruct, that compel me to believe that no matter what, God brings good from all circumstances.
I’m afraid I’ve embraced this as a sort of consolation prize, a fourth runner up in a pageant who gets no crown or announcement.
A decision that all is always well for others, just not for me.
But, that’s so very distant from the truth.
The truth is, I just do not know it all, all the secrets I’ve been shielded from, all the recalculating of my directions and choices simply because that accurate and oh so loving Spirit inside me
Has said, this is the way.
It may seem wrong or not for you.
It may resemble hurt.
But, keep going.
Keep being you listening to me.
Keep being surprised by me.
In progress, I have 22 paintings commissioned that will be gifted to women, a reminder to me of something I never set out to do.
In 2015, I was given a Bible at Christmas. It was designed with space for thoughts and color in the margin.
This Bible began my journey into being an artist and it started with women from the passages who felt like women like me.
Sketches, simply sketches.
It’s now falling apart, the pages are more thin than makes sense. I should, I suppose put it away for safekeeping, stop using it.
This Bible led to painting angels for people who were grieving or needed encouragement and then to painting other subjects.
Not angels, but landscapes, abstracts, animals and trees.
And figuratively strong women standing, leaning, postured in a position that conveys battles won, grace remembered and mostly, I hope,
A decision to live with expectant hope.
To hope.
Their gazes fixed on hope.
Hope we can’t see; but, fully known because of God’s Spirit in us.
And along with all the nudges and the pauses.
The changes and questions.
I’m seeing the purpose of the visible pain and the invisible questions I’ve carried.
I’m finding my way to be guided by hope and endurance rather than questions of why and a constant looking back to a decision (even if feeble) to live “now” not then.
Knowing I have no idea what is coming only that what comes to me through my Father is always good.
Always has purpose.
We’ve come a far distance, those of us harmed by the uncertainties over why it seemed life chose to hurt us.
Before bed, I read a verse about being cared for. I read that the shepherd takes care of his sheep overnight. Sheep don’t have to worry about being fed, of waking rested and ready.
I woke too early on an “off” and open day. The moment I sat with coffee, a thought came.
I’ll share it here as the “good thing” today.
Morning Thoughts
“What are you building and why when I’ve already established your dwelling place?”
I wrote underneath 10/26/23 and my children’s names in a thick circle, is this question.
I pause to consider why, I question the significance of “dwelling” and I imagine eye rolls and even laughter over the “depth of me”.
The more I thought of this question God gave me, I compared this world we live in, these lives we lead of striving and comparing ourselves just to stay “caught up”.
We don’t have to build ourselves up.
We may topple under the weight of the hurried addition to our first or second floor. We neglect the foundation and we envision mansions that represent our lives, when we’d be better as a quaint little three bedroom with a porch.
After all the building for appearance and to comfort ourselves in being enough, we just might find we don’t want to live here anymore, it’s just too much.
And that’s good
That’s a kindness of God to be shown that you are enough, more than and that although you feel worn thin and the structure of the dwelling of you is feeble and tired, there’s still a little corner that’s waiting for you to find yourself acknowledging the exhaustion.
You matter.
The condition of your body and soul, the place where God dwells even when we can’t find Him in the clutter.
Surprisingly, that’s a sweet place, the most beautiful place you’ve known all along.
Maybe, its name is acceptance.
I think so.
God gave me this today. He wants us both to know. We are enough in our dwelling with Him, we don’t have to wear ourselves out in building, renovating or leveling ourselves in destructive manners because we don’t think our “dwelling” measures up.
God has more than we can fathom in the place of us He long ago established.
“I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” Isaiah 45:3 NIV
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.)
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 