There are pieces that are planned… and then there are pieces that arrive through prayer. This one came slowly. Thread by thread, like a quiet knowing unfolding beneath my hands. A womb. A holding. A sacred space of becoming. Within it lives our story ~ myself, my husband, and the five lives we were entrusted to nurture and carry forward. Not perfectly formed, not neatly contained ~ but woven together in love, in faith, in all that has shaped us. This next chapter of the studi

To whom this letter finds, There is a quiet exhaustion that comes not from the body alone, but from the need to explain the body. To put words around what is difficult to measure. To justify why energy has changed. To describe something that shifts from day to day. For those living with complex health, this can become its own kind of fatigue. Because not everything visible on the outside reflects what is happening within. And so we try. We explain when we cancel plans. We exp

There are moments when time feels as though it folds in on itself. Yesterday, sitting in adoration, I became aware of something deeper than memory. It was not just my own presence in that church, it was a shared presence. A thread drawing ever so gently through generations. I found myself thinking of my great grandmother, Mary Frances. How many times had she sat in that same sacred stillness? Am I sitting where she sat on those many occasions? How many whispered prayers had r

Dear friends, This letter brings forward how strength finds different ways of letting life move onwards and so here, there is a kind of strength that does not announce itself. It does not strive for attention. It does not measure itself against others. It does not rush. It simply remains. I have been thinking often about the women who came before me. Women who lived full and demanding lives. Who carried families, homes, grief, responsibility and often without language for the

Hi friends If you’ve wandered with me in these letters, you may have noticed something very interesting happening in the arc of the series now: Listening Rest Regulation Faith Structure And so this letter is an important threshold where I attempt to gently meet fear and untangle it. —————————— There is a quiet fear that often rises when we begin to honour the body. If I slow down ~ am I giving up? It is not always spoken aloud. But it lingers. Especially for those of us who h

“Aspire to live quietly…” That line alone feels like an inheritance, doesn’t it? Not a loud legacy, not one written in grand gestures, but one stitched, worked, and lived through hands that kept going. Through days that looked ordinary from the outside, yet carried immense weight, perseverance, and devotion within them. It makes sense that it feels like it’s been delivered to me. Because in many ways, it has. https://youtu.be/RY9lyFyFB_A?si=qSlKwYZkrsy0h6bD Somewhere along th

“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.” That quote speaks into what this studio is becoming a most wonderful hermitage where silence and stillness shines with the simplest of rules: 1. Begin the day in stillness Before the world enters the mind, pause. light a candle sit quietly pray, contemplate and reflect breathe in the new day Even ten quiet minutes roots the day differently. 2. Tend the living world watering plants tending a garden sitting beneath a tree

There are moments when the world feels unbearably heavy. When pain wraps itself around your heart like a thick fog, and the path forward seems blurred, uncertain. In those times, solace is not just a comfort - it is a lifeline. It is the gentle whisper that reminds you: you are not alone. Solace is not a destination but a journey. It is the quiet space where your soul can breathe, where your wounds can begin to mend. And sometimes, it comes from the most unexpected places ~

Dear friends and followers, There comes a moment when listening to the body begins to change the shape of life itself. Not dramatically. Not overnight. But quietly, through a series of small decisions. In earlier years I often built my days around expectation and what needed to be finished, what others required, what productivity seemed to demand. My body simply followed along as best it could. But living with complex health eventually asks a different question: What if life

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

“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…”

“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.

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