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

“My studio floor is a wild tangle of brushes, paint tubes, scraps of paper, and broken pastels. To anyone else, it might look like disorder”

In a world obsessed with perfection, showing up imperfectly but faithfully and mindfully has been a powerful shift. Over the last 100...

This weekend, I have a question for you: How do you refill your cup? For me, it begins simply. I light my sage and let its smoke drift...