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For quite some time my little studio has been a quiet place of making. Paint has found its way onto paper. Threads have been pulled through cloth. Words have been written slowly between the spaces of prayer, journaling, and the ordinary rhythm of living. Many of you have walked alongside me in this way of creating ~ encouraging me, reflecting back your own stories, and reminding me that art has a mysterious way of reaching the places words alone cannot. All of this creativit

Healing is not a straight path. It is a quiet journey inward, a gentle unfolding of the heart and mind. When pain lingers, when suffering feels endless, we often search outside ourselves for relief. Yet, the most profound healing begins within. It begins with self-reflection. Self-reflection is a sacred pause. A moment to look deeply at our own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. It is not about judgment or blame. It is about understanding. About meeting yourself with kindne

Dear friends, I open this weeks letter to you on how a particular kind of tiredness reshapes our faith. Not the end of the day kind that sleep easily restores. But the deeper fatigue that settles into the body when health becomes complex and energy unpredictable. In seasons like this, faith changes its posture. It becomes quieter. Less about certainty. More about presence. For many years my prayer life looked structured and strong. Morning prayers, evening prayers, long stret

I’ve just come back inside from being outside. I was standing beneath the fig tree, wandering the unkept pathways of our cottage garden, looking up at branches bending in the breeze. Flowers still blooming. Fruit still forming. There is something deeply reassuring about that. More than anything, it was the simplicity of stillness and silence that met me there. Not the absence of sound ~ the wind moved through the trees and brushed against the clothesline, birds called to one

Dear friends, Letter One was listening. Letter Two was honouring through rest. Letter Three is participating in restoration and so I begin; There was a time when I believed my art was something extra. A gift. A calling. A beautiful addition to an already full life. I no longer see it that way. In recent conversations with my specialists, something unexpected happened. As I described my daily rhythms of painting, journaling, structured quiet, prayer woven through brushstrokes,

“If Letter One was illumination, Letter Two is warmth. And so I say to you this week…”

I’ve quietly said yes to the #100DayProject with @dothe100dayproject on instagram. For the next 100 days I will be creating life stitched, painted, crocheted and written onto fabric pages, all wrapped in this hand sewn cover. Each day will hold a small moment. A thread. A brushstroke. A word. I’ll share daily on instagram, and each week I’ll gather the threads more fully in a journal blog post right here and a vlog over on my YouTube channel. One hundred days of showing up

In the quiet moments, when the world slows down and the noise fades, I find myself drawn to contemplation. It is a gentle refuge, a soft place where resilience begins to take root. When health hardships weigh heavily, contemplation offers a way to breathe, to feel, and to heal. It is not just a pause but a profound act of nurturing the soul. It is something that I have found has been inherited from some special women that have come before me. Contemplation is more than just t

“…take a slow breath right now…”

Dear friends, There is a particular kind of stillness that arrives not because we choose it, but because the body insists. And so it is that across the next nine Mondays, I will be dropping a letter here about living faithfully inside complex health. For many years I have lived with symptoms I could not fully name. Fatigue that did not match my schedule. Inflammation that felt disproportionate. Moments where my mind felt clouded, as if moving through early morning fog long af

Over the past weeks of intentional stillness, I’ve been able to chase new information about my health complexities. What I have learned, is that my body has been carrying more than I understood ~ more than my health specialists understood! Thats all changing! I now know that the moderate sleep apnea and REM atonia conditions that I live with have likely been quietly shaping my health for many years. My specialist believes these disruptions may have contributed to the immune a

I’ve been quieter than usual these past couple of weeks ~ not absent, still creating, still tending to my work and the practical rhythms of selling art ~ but choosing silence and stillness more intentionally. I’ve been sitting with prayer, journaling (as I always do), and mindful meditation, allowing space for listening rather than answering. In all of that the whispers have gotten louder than ever before to get intentional with allowing stillness to take me where it’s never

Today’s words come from that quiet space within us all. A place where the noise of the world softens, and the heart begins to listen. It is here, in this gentle stillness, that mindfulness takes root. Mindfulness is not just a practice; it is a path. A path that leads us through the shadows of pain and hardship toward the light of personal growth. When life feels heavy, when suffering seems endless, mindfulness offers a way to breathe, to be present, and to heal. It invites u

“There is a quiet power in creativity. A gentle force that can cradle your heart when the world feels heavy.”

There is a quiet magic in art. It whispers to us when words fail. It holds space for the feelings we cannot name. When life feels heavy, when pain wraps around your heart like a thick fog, art can be a gentle companion. It invites you to pause, to breathe, to look inward. In those moments, art becomes more than just colour and shape. It becomes a mirror, a sanctuary, a soft place to land. I have found that art for contemplation is not about creating masterpieces or understand

Truly I tell you, that letting myself discern and learn more about the creative processes regarding self portraits ~ I am working how to see myself, and so it is that portraiture is teaching me how to see the world. And so it is that I am diving deeper into the lives and histories of others. That prayer I shared led me deep into the soul of portraiture. If self portraits are a way of learning how to see myself truthfully, then portraiture is how I learn to see others with th

The importance of sitting with portraiture feels important at this time, so here this morning I sat under my fig tree in prayer: Lord, Teach me to see myself as You see me not rushed, not striving, but held and wholly alive. In the fragments of my days, at the shoreline and at the desk, in pencil lines and quiet breaths, meet me. Fill every cell of my being with the breath of Your life. Let my seeing become prayer, my stillness an offering, my presence enough. Amen.

Self portraits open me up to moments when I can see myself as who I truly am. Not as I am perceived. Not as I am performing. But as I am ~ present, breathing, becoming. There is something disarming about turning the gaze inward and outward at the same time. To sit with my own form, whether sketched in graphite or caught mid-movement by a camera, asks me to pause long enough to notice what is actually here. The slope of a shoulder. Hands resting without urgency. A body that h

“This is how most of what I create begins not as something to offer, but as something to attend to.”

Saturday’s are meant to be gentle, so wherever you are and whatever you’re doing let your space do its quiet work. That’s what I’m doing. The day doesn’t ask for attention ~ it receives it. Much love, xox