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

Dear Sash Seabourne, Today, I stitched a page that carries both the weight of my past and the quiet, steady breath of healing. It is not a black page, though it could have been. Because this moment, this part of my story is no longer only about what was endured, but about what has lived through it. At the center, I placed a small photograph of myself as a child. A girl who “took every black and bruise in silence – till it coloured half my life.” A girl who didn’t yet have wor

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

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…”

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.”