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

Make Room for Light

Christmas, Faith, Peace, Redemption, Stillness, wonder

Merry Christmas, all

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.

New Things

Abuse Survivor, Art, bravery, courage, creativity, hope, Redemption, Vulnerability, writing

Typically, I’m not a follower of “bright and shiny” trends. I like to stay in the safe and familiar lane.

Not to mention, I have stories of life and all sorts of things here. I felt risky and sort of disloyal to change.

I’ve moved my writing to Substack. It’s user friendly and it feels more suited to the blending of my art and writing.

It integrated very easily (and it has to be easy for me) with my established email list from art website.

I’ve been writing Notes here and there but am moving to more frequently Longform posts which are much like what I’ve posted here.

Here’s my most recent post. I shared the experience of a professional branding session for my art.

If you’d like, please follow along.

Writing on Substack

Newfound Wonder

aging, Children, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, freedom, grace, Holy Spirit, memoir, patience, Peace, Redemption, rest, surrender, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

My noticing of feathers had faded until yesterday.

God is everywhere, don’t forget to notice.

One feather, not spectacular at all caught my eye, my face toward the ground.

A few weeks ago, a bird sat in the driveway. It was not tiny. It seemed paralyzed and I thought it must be my place to help it.

Soon, I discovered it was newborn. Large and loud birds began to appear. It was odd, the realization that they saw me as a threat.

I stood only a minute. I was captivated by their aggression and the way the newborn bird began to move away from me, recognizing because of the elders, I might be unsafe.

They were mockingbirds. That’s what they do, it’s the way of God and nature.

Yesterday, I reached for the feather and I wondered why I’d stopped considering my “finding feathers” as sacred as before.

I decided it’s because of my vision being too “far focused”, either looking into my future with uncertainty and fear or looking into my past with longing to no longer “go there”.

Rarely just in the moment.

So, the wonders that once captivated me with simple surprise were less sacred than before.

Sacred, a word that invited itself into my heart a couple of months ago, a word I’d rarely used to describe my life or my living and its contributions as quietly important.

Significant.

An ask came and with my yes came the assurance that this thing I’d been called to do was sacred.

Now, a memorable gift not to others only but to myself because of that realization.

That secretly and intentionally has led to my noticing wonderful things again.

I’m realizing just now that maybe yesterday was different, the joy in my heart when my grandson nodded yes, smiled and gave me a “high five”, the sincerity in my husband’s voice, the giddiness in my daughter’s voice and in her daughter’s brand new dancer’s pose, my son calling to tell me of a new thing he’ll be trying and the subtle excitement in his voice.

I remembered that yesterday and again this morning, I spoke a new prayer, pondered a word I’m newly fascinated over.

I consecrate this day to you, God.

Consecrate.

: dedicated to a sacred purpose

I consecrated my day to the Lord and I began to notice God again in the small ways.

“May we never lose our wonder…wide-eyed and mystified, may we be just like a child.”

Continue and believe.

You are loved.

Look for the wonder.

Pressing On

aging, confidence, contentment, courage, depression, doubt, Faith, hope, patience, Peace, Redemption, Trust, waiting, wonder

Press in.
Press on.

“Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn; he will come to us…”
‭‭Hosea‬ ‭6‬:‭3‬ ‭ESV‬‬

One of the surest ways to finding yourself back in what I call that “deep hole” of feeling aloneness or burn out over things you thought you could control and learned that you couldn’t is this…

Unexpressed emotions, specifically unexpressed disappointment.

You don’t have to tell anyone. Just tell God alone. You may be surprised over all you’ve been holding in either because it seems trivial or you believe you should’ve long let it go.

Sit in silence. Let your disappointments come to the surface. Be honest with God.

If tears come, let them.
Actually, be glad they did.

Don’t hide your disappointments, express them so they don’t keep you hidden.

Know yourself well and you’ll know God even more.