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This morning, as part of my January rhythm, I began with a simple question: Where do I sense God’s nearness? There was no immediate answer. No clarity rushing in. Only a quiet invitation to move my body toward stillness. So I went outside and sat beneath my fig tree. Its wide leaves held the light gently, not too bright, not too dark ~ just enough. Earth beneath me. Green pressing close. Breath slowing into something truer. And there, under the fig tree, a line of Scripture

There are words that arrive as invitations rather than plans. They do not come with strategies or timelines. They simply ask to be lived. As I step into 2026, the word given to me is “lamp”. Not a spotlight. Not a flare. Not a floodlight meant to impress or overwhelm. A lamp small enough to be tended daily. It requires attention in trimming, oil, care. It does not rush the dark away, but it does make the next step visible. Much of what will be shared here in the coming weeks

“January will be here tomorrow, so for now, the table is set….”

This year is the first birthday of my dear Auntie Raie since she passed from this world. She was my mother’s oldest sister. My godmother. The woman whose name I was given and therefore, in so many ways, the woman who stood quietly at the beginning of my own story. Every year on this day, without fail, I would ring her to wish her a happy birthday. It became a ritual of sorts ~ ordinary, faithful, never questioned. This year, the call lives only in memory, and I find myself sp

“I sit here as the fourth week of Advent begins…”

“…these red dirt roads are not where faith is tested, but where faith is taught.”

There comes a moment in the interior journey when effort gives way to trust. It is not a dramatic moment. There is no announcement. It arrives quietly and often after we have grown tired of trying to lead ourselves. This is where I find myself now, somewhere between knowing what to do and learning how to be led. In Exodus, the people are not given a map. They are given a presence. A pillar of cloud by day. A pillar of fire by night and a pillar of light inside the soul. They

Last night, I had words ready to be shared. And then the world shifted. In Sydney, a Jewish community gathered to light the first candle of Chanukah, a festival born from the refusal to let darkness have the final word. And instead of safety, they were met with devastation. I have paused my scheduled posts, because some things ask us to stop speaking on schedule and start speaking from the heart. I am shaken. And I am holding close the Jewish community here, and everywhere wh

“…faith doesn’t always arrive as certainty, sometimes it arrives as inheritance…”

A Year In Review - “Late in 2024, I sat with a vision board and a heart that was learning slowly how to trust again…”

There is a kind of rest that comes only after we stop trying to deserve it. This week, as I linger in the early rooms of The Interior Castle, I am becoming more aware of how deeply I am trained to strive, even in prayer. Especially in prayer. I notice how quickly my soul wants to bring something with it. Words. Effort. Insight. Proof of progress. And yet, Saint Teresa speaks of these first rooms not as places of achievement, but of awakening. The soul is not yet flooded with

I have such big plans for Studio Kre’at and so it is that I am letting December be slow and intentional allowing me to make room for what has been and what will become. And so I sit and reflect, I see how this year has taught me to rest ~ not in what I cannot do, but in what I have been given to do. To bring hope. To carry light. I invite you to sit now with me on my back lawn as the whispers of 2025 and 2026 have found me.

“Lately, I have not grown louder. I have grown quieter…”

It’s the moments on waking this morning, that have me back in the journal. And after a number of days off, simply to go inwards in a deeper way ~ I know that I am not a content machine. I am a woman simply listening for light. That knowledge allows me wisdom on a grander scale and that slower rhythm wandered honours that wisdom of the vocation I have. This slower rhythm does three sacred things all at once: Protects my interior life Keeps this studio visible Prepares hear

“And so this little painting of washing on the line becomes a prayer in itself…”

“Creativity is not just about making art or solving problems. It is a way of being…”

There are moments in life when the road beneath us feels like a witness ~ quiet, steady, and strangely alive. It remembers the weight of our steps, the seasons we walked through, and the shifts of heart we carried along the way. This week’s Art Spotlight features a piece that arrived exactly in that spirit: a girl standing on a long, earthy red road, her back turned, just about to walk into a horizon that feels both unknown and deeply familiar. When I painted her, I wasn’t th

Dear beloved ones that walk with me here, This quiet Sunday, as the light softens across my little prayer corner, my eyes rest on this simple figure I once painted cross-legged, still, surrendered. A heart in the head. A heart in the chest. A gentle reminder that the truest blessings come when what we know and what we feel finally breathe in the same rhythm. There are days when my head rushes ahead of grace, planning, solving, worrying and other days when my heart carries the