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….”

“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

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

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.

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…”

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…”

“This week’s Art Spotlight Tuesday brings a piece still in progress, a mixed media work of oil paint and oil pastels, alive with…”

The verse from Jeremiah 29:11 has become more than a promise I hold onto it’s become a rhythm I live within…

This first week of October has been full of movement, of making, and of moments that have asked me to pause and breathe it all in. So...