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

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

“…God is not done with me yet. Sanctity is already blooming within me , slowly, quietly and faithfully…”

There’s something about the red dirt ~ the way it holds the weight of footsteps and still manages to cradle life at its edges.

Healing isn’t a straight road. It’s a gradual walk along long and winding ways, where each bend reveals only a little more of what lies ahea