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"Learning to Trust the Creative Process: A Self-Taught Artist's Perspective"

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  • When Your Creative Practice Feels Too Hard: Finding Flow in Simple Seasons

    When Your Creative Practice Feels Too Hard: Finding Flow in Simple Seasons

    I haven’t had a true painting session in about two months. 🫣

    There, I said it. The woman who has her own painted art all over her home and office from over the last 9 years, doodles zentangles and hand lettered designs, plus pops color and creativity in nearly everything, hasn’t touched paint in two months. And you know what? It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last, and that’s perfectly okay. 🧡

    Here’s what I’ve learned about creative overload – and really, any kind of mental overload that makes the things we usually love feel suddenly impossible.

    When Complex Becomes Overwhelming

    My painting practice isn’t just about making pretty things. It’s where I connect with God, process life’s complexities, and find that flow state where my brain can run on autopilot and sort through everything swirling around in there. It’s where I retreat to rejuvenate my mind, heart, and soul.

    But lately, even thinking about setting up paints feels overwhelming and frankly, exhausting. The decisions – which colors, what surface, what technique – that used to energize me now feel like too much. My brain is already working overtime processing life transitions, health challenges, family coordination, and all the mental load that comes with daily responsibilities.

    “Cross Out the Noise”; one of my original paint pours that perfectly matches the overload when ideas, to-do lists, and responsibilities crash into each other – all shouting for equal attention.

    Now, people might point to my full-time church work as the culprit for this overload. And yes, ministry leadership adds its own complexity. But here’s the thing – my church work actually fulfills needs for spirituality, connection with friends, and being productive. It’s not the villain in this story.

    I learned what true work overwhelm felt like with previous employers during my college days, when there was no work-life balance and my job drained rather than filled me. This is different. This is simply a season where I’m carrying more mental load than usual, and it can happen regardless of whether you love your work or not.

    The Background Noise Problem

    You know that feeling when your brain won’t shut off? When you’re at work but thinking about home ideas, and at home but processing work projects? That constant background mental noise that never quite settles?

    That’s cognitive overload, and it happens in seasons of life when we’re carrying more than our usual mental load. It’s not necessarily about having a “bad” job or too much work – it’s about the cumulative effect of managing multiple life areas simultaneously.

    Without my usual painting sessions – my brain’s primary processing time – all that mental noise has nowhere to go. It just keeps cycling in the background, making it hard to be fully present anywhere.

    Simple Saves the Day

    So I’ve been doodling. Zentangles. Simple black ink on white paper. Repetitive patterns that don’t require color decisions or complex compositions.

    And guess what? It’s working.

    Swirls and waves with minimal color adorn this brown cardstock bookmark – free flowing calm in doodle form 💙

    Those meditative, repetitive patterns are giving my brain the flow state it’s been craving without the cognitive load that painting requires right now. The wave patterns I love creating, the simple geometric designs, the mindful repetition – it’s all there, just in a more accessible form.

    Permission to Adapt

    This isn’t just about art. It’s about recognizing when our usual practices – the ones that normally fill us up – become too much for our current season.

    Maybe your morning devotional routine feels too long, so you switch to one verse and a breath prayer.

    Maybe your exercise regimen feels overwhelming, so you take walks instead of structured workouts.

    Maybe your elaborate meal planning feels impossible, so you embrace simple, nourishing foods that don’t require complex decisions.

    It’s taking the things that usually bring you joy and fulfillment into a narrower focus, eliminating the overwhelm from decision fatigue but embracing the core of what gives you back some spark.

    The Wisdom of Seasons

    There’s wisdom in adapting rather than abandoning. Instead of giving up creativity entirely because painting feels too hard, I’m meeting my creative needs where they are right now. The spiritual connection, the meditative processing, the satisfaction in completing a design – it’s all still there, just in simpler form.

    This season won’t last forever. My brain will settle, the overload will ease, and I’ll return to painting when it feels nourishing instead of overwhelming. But for now, I’m honoring where I am instead of forcing where I think I should be.

    What Simple is Calling You?

    If you’re in a season where your usual practices feel too hard, what simple version might serve you right now?

    What would it look like to adapt instead of abandon?

    What flow state is available to you in this season, even if it’s not the one you’re used to?

    Sometimes the most creative thing we can do is choose the path that actually serves us, rather than forcing the path that drains us.

    Your brain – and your soul – will thank you for the grace.

    What simple practice is calling to you in this season? I’d love to hear how you’re adapting your routines to meet yourself where you are.

  • The Art of Saying No: When Good Opportunities Become Overwhelming Commitments

    The Art of Saying No: When Good Opportunities Become Overwhelming Commitments

    “Can you take on one more thing?” seems to be the unofficial motto of busy seasons.

    It happens all the time: “Do you have a minute?” “You’re better with computers than me – can you help me?” “I know you like this kind of art stuff and I would love to have something like this. Can you make me one?”

    It’s interesting how fast people delegate things to one another, without even realizing they do it. And as a recovering people-pleaser and proactive do-er, I fall into the unintentional trap every single time.

    When Helping Becomes Overwhelming

    Case in point: at a group activity recently, a conversation was started about setting up a speaker. The group talking asked me on an aside if I knew anyone to cover a day and I happened to have a lead for them. “That’s great – go ahead and set it up and let us know what day works best.” Suddenly, I’m cast as the scheduler to coordinate this event and I realize another “yes” seems to have been given.

    This is just one of many daily interactions, some that form in a similar way and others that are my own doing. Like when you have an idea and brainstorm with someone and you’re throwing ideas back and forth. The conversation goes from “I” of the initiator for the project to “we” and you’re recruited to doing the project.

    While these sound like points of just being helpful to someone or running with all the ideas you helped come up with, they are all still yeses and not ones initiated yourself.

    The Self-Imposed Yeses

    Add to it the yes you set up yourself: Yes, I can make that doctor appointment at that time and day. Yes, I’m the parent at home that night so I’ll make dinner plans. Yes, I’ll take the car for service regularly. Yes, I want to maintain my health so I’ll stick to this activity.

    These aren’t bad things. In fact, they’re all good things. Necessary things. But here’s what I’m slowly learning: every yes to something good might be a no to something better. Every commitment I make affects not just my schedule, but my energy, my family time, and my ability to show up fully for the things that matter most.

    The Stewardship of Saying No

    Saying no isn’t selfish – it’s stewardship. It’s being honest about our capacity and honoring the commitments we’ve already made.

    But knowing this and living it? Two completely different things.

    Still working on this one. Some days I nail it, other days I overcommit and remember why boundaries matter. Some days I catch myself before I automatically say yes to that “one more thing.” Other days I find myself coordinating events I never intended to coordinate, wondering how I got there again.

    Learning to Redirect Instead of Taking On

    I’m getting better at this, though. Recently, when that speaker situation came up, I offered to provide the contact information so they could reach out themselves instead of me becoming the coordinator. When someone wanted to brainstorm program ideas, I was clear upfront: “I’m happy to help form ideas, but I don’t have the bandwidth to activate and carry them out – volunteers would be needed.”

    Just this week, someone came asking questions about a program and then wanted me to reach out to a resource to revamp what we have in place. I pivoted it back to them: “You’ll want to visit with the staff member who oversees that program to discuss whether this new resource would be beneficial.” I took myself out of needing to do another follow-up task.

    Breaking the One-Stop-Shop Pattern

    Here’s what I’m realizing: when I’m working with so many people, I’m constantly having to discern where to put my energy and not fall into another character flaw of mine – doing everything myself. Yes, I can and would get it done. Yes, I often end up housing all the different pieces so people have someone to check in with. But it’s not sustainable.

    No matter how good and positive these requests are, they’re still another piece. And when you’re juggling church administration, family life, art business, and everything else, every additional piece matters.

    What I’m learning is that when I redirect people to the right resources, everyone wins. They get help from someone who specializes in that area, the systems work better, and I can focus on what I’m actually called to do. It’s not about pushing people away – it’s about connecting them with the best person for their specific need.

    The Hidden Cost of Good Opportunities

    What I’m learning is that every commitment – even the good ones, even the ones that align with my gifts and passions – has a cost. Not just time, but emotional energy. Mental bandwidth. The ability to be present for my family. The space to hear what God might actually be calling me to instead of just responding to what’s being asked of me.

    When I automatically say yes to coordinating that speaker event, I’m saying no to something else. Maybe it’s saying no to a quiet evening with Aspen. Maybe it’s saying no to time I need to recharge so I can show up fully at work. Maybe it’s saying no to the creative project that’s been waiting patiently for my attention.

    Learning to Pause and Clarify

    I’m trying to build in a pause now. When someone asks, “Can you take on one more thing?” I’m learning to say, “Let me check my calendar and get back to you.” Not because I don’t want to help, but because I want to help well. I want to give a thoughtful yes or a gracious no, instead of an automatic response that I’ll regret later.

    I’m also learning to clarify roles upfront. “I’m happy to help you think through this, but I can’t take on the execution right now.” It feels awkward at first, but it’s honest. And it prevents that slow slide from brainstorming partner to project manager.

    The Question That Changes Everything

    Here’s the question I’m trying to ask myself more often: “What’s one thing I need to say no to this week?”

    Maybe it’s that extra project that sounds interesting but isn’t essential. Maybe it’s the social obligation that feels more like duty than joy. Maybe it’s the self-imposed standard that’s adding pressure without adding value. Maybe it’s taking on someone else’s follow-up task when I could redirect them to the right person instead.

    Because here’s what I’m discovering: when I protect my capacity, I can show up better for the things that truly matter. When I honor my limits, I can serve from a place of abundance instead of depletion. When I say no to good things, I create space for the best things.

    A Word to Those I’ve Said No To

    If I’ve said no to you recently, or redirected you to someone else, please know it’s not coming from a place of not wanting to help or not caring about what you’re doing. It’s coming from a place of preservation – learning to focus my sights directly on what my path is from God, learning to honor moments of pause, and working on honoring commitments that build my relationship with my family.

    A no now could be a yes in a different season. Don’t give up on me, but do give me grace as I learn to steward my capacity better.

    I’m discovering that sometimes the most loving thing I can do – for you, for my family, for the work God has called me to – is to be honest about what I can and can’t take on right now. When I redirect you to the right person or say no from this place, I’m actually protecting my ability to say a wholehearted yes when the timing is right.

    Still Learning

    I won’t pretend I have this figured out. This week alone, I’ve probably said yes to three things I should have paused on. But I’m getting better at recognizing the pattern. I’m getting better at asking the hard questions before I commit. I’m getting better at redirecting instead of automatically taking on.

    And maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe learning to say no well – and redirect strategically – is like any other skill. It takes practice, grace for the mistakes, and the willingness to try again tomorrow.

    What’s one thing you need to say no to this week? Or what’s one task you could redirect to the right person instead of taking it on yourself? I’d love to hear how you navigate the balance between serving others and protecting your capacity.

  • Burning the Ships: Why Sometimes Moving Forward Means Cutting Off the Way Back

    Burning the Ships: Why Sometimes Moving Forward Means Cutting Off the Way Back

    I’ve been thinking about that For King & Country song “Burn the Ships” lately, and how it connects to one of the most decisive moments in history. When Cortés landed in Mexico, he ordered his ships burned. No retreat. No backup plan. No “let’s see how this goes and maybe head home if it gets tough.”

    Just forward. Just faith. Just the mission ahead.

    The Comfort of Backup Plans

    There’s something both terrifying and liberating about that image. Because if we’re honest, most of us live with one foot in our calling and one foot in our escape route. We say yes to what God’s asking of us, but we keep our old patterns, our familiar comforts, our “just in case” alternatives right within reach.

    I know I do this. When God calls me toward something uncomfortable – deeper trust, harder conversations, staying put when I want to run – I find myself unconsciously keeping those ships in the harbor. The ship of “I can handle this myself.” The ship of “maybe there’s an easier way.” The ship of “what if I just tried this other thing instead?”

    When Quiet Feels Like Permission to Flee

    Here’s what I’ve noticed about myself: when things get quiet in my spiritual life, when there’s no dramatic calling or obvious next step, I get antsy. That stillness starts feeling like permission to shake things up, to chase after something that feels more immediate, more controllable.

    Maybe it’s a new project that promises quick results. Maybe it’s diving headfirst into some self-improvement plan that makes me feel productive. Maybe it’s pursuing recognition or success in ways that seem harmless but slowly pull my focus away from what I know to be true and good.

    The problem isn’t the desire for growth or improvement. The problem is when those desires become my master instead of my offering to the Master I’m supposed to be serving.

    The Ships We Need to Burn

    Hebrews 11:25 talks about choosing “to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin.” But maybe the verse that hits closer to home is Matthew 6:24: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other.”

    The ships I need to burn aren’t always dramatic or obviously sinful. They’re the subtle alternatives that whisper “this might be better” when God is asking me to stay the course. They’re the backup plans that promise easier paths when the calling requires uncomfortable growth.

    Success. Recognition. The illusion of control. The addiction to “doing something” when God might be asking me to simply be still and trust.

    The Daily Decision

    Here’s what I’m learning: burning ships isn’t a one-time dramatic gesture. It’s a daily choice. Every morning, I have to decide again whether I’m going to trust God’s timing and direction, or whether I’m going to keep those escape routes ready just in case.

    When the calling feels uncomfortable, do I lean into it or start looking for alternatives?

    When things are quiet, do I rest in that space or immediately start stirring up activity to feel more in control?

    When God’s plan seems slow or unclear, do I wait with open hands or start making my own plans?

    The Freedom in Surrender

    There’s something beautiful that happens when you finally burn those ships. When you stop serving the master of your own timeline, your own comfort, your own version of success. When you choose to trust that God’s calling – even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s quiet, even when it doesn’t make sense – is better than any backup plan you could devise.

    It’s scary. But it’s also incredibly freeing.

    Because when you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder at other options, you can finally move forward with your whole heart. When you’re not dividing your energy between God’s plan and your backup plans, you can pour everything into what He’s actually asking of you.

    The Invitation Forward

    Maybe you know what ships you need to burn. Maybe they’re obvious – the habits, relationships, or pursuits that are clearly pulling you away from God. Or maybe they’re subtler – the “just in case” alternatives that seem innocent but keep you from fully surrendering to His plan.

    Either way, the invitation is the same: burn the ships. Choose today to serve one Master. Trust that His plan – even when it’s uncomfortable, even when it’s quiet – is better than any alternative you’re keeping in reserve.

    The journey forward might be uncertain, but at least it’s forward. And sometimes, that’s exactly where faith begins.

    What ships do you find yourself reluctant to burn? What backup plans keep you from fully surrendering to God’s calling in your life?

  • Taking the Leap: Why I Just Sent Friend Requests to Everyone I’ve Ever Met (And Why I’m Terrified)

    Taking the Leap: Why I Just Sent Friend Requests to Everyone I’ve Ever Met (And Why I’m Terrified)

    You know that feeling when the Holy Spirit keeps nudging you to do something, and you keep finding creative ways to ignore it? Yeah, that’s been me for months now.

    The nudge? Reach out to people. Reconnect. Stop being so worried about looking stupid and just… connect.

    So today I did the thing. I sent out friend requests and page invites to basically everyone I’ve ever met. And now I’m sitting here like, “Oh no, what did I just do?”

    The List That Made Me Realize How Blessed I’ve Been

    As I was going through my contacts, adding people from every season of my life, I started seeing this beautiful pattern emerge. There were classmates from my overseas school days and my stateside high school years. Former grocery store coworkers from when I was just starting out. Team members I supervised, managers who supervised me. People I met at vendor events when I was brave enough to set up my first art booth. And now, my church family at Aldersgate – both congregation members and the amazing people I work with in my administrator role.

    Looking at this list, I realized something pretty incredible: I’ve been blessed to cross paths with some truly amazing people. Each one of these connections has been a thread in the tapestry of who I am today. They’ve influenced my art, shaped my perspective, and helped me grow in ways I probably didn’t even realize at the time.

    The Vulnerability of Putting Yourself Out There

    Here’s the thing about sharing your art and your heart online – it’s terrifying. Every post feels like standing naked in front of a crowd, hoping someone will say “hey, that’s beautiful” instead of “what were you thinking?”

    But during my prayer journaling this morning, I felt like I got a clear answer to my fear: the only way past the scary feeling is to do the scary thing. You find bravery by acting brave, even when your insides are doing gymnastics. You acclimate to the fear by facing it. And eventually – hopefully – the fear fades.

    That doesn’t make hitting “send” any easier, though.

    From Wallflower to… Still Feeling Like a Wallflower

    I keep telling myself I’m not still that super awkward kid I was in high school, but honestly? Some days I feel exactly like her. The one who wanted to connect but didn’t know how. The one who had thoughts and ideas but was too scared to share them.

    The difference now is that I’m choosing to share anyway. My Thursday night Facebook Live art sessions, my blog posts about faith and creativity, my zentangle bookmarks that I hope bring peace to someone’s reading time – it’s all me saying “here I am, awkward edges and all.”

    What I’m Really Hoping For

    When I sent out those invites today, I wasn’t just asking people to follow my art page. I was saying, “Hey, remember me? We shared some space in this world for a while, and that mattered to me. Want to see what I’m creating these days?”

    I’m hoping my art can add a bright pop of color to someone’s social media feed when they need it. I’m hoping the prayer prompts and spiritual reflections I share might be exactly what someone needs in that moment. But mostly, I’m hoping people can see that every person we encounter – even briefly – has the potential to influence us in beautiful ways.

    Maybe you were the coworker who showed me kindness during a tough shift. Maybe you were the classmate who made me laugh when I needed it. Maybe you were the church member who welcomed me with genuine warmth. You might not think you played a big role, but you did. You were part of my story.

    The Invitation (And My Nervous Hope)

    So if you got one of those friend requests or page invites today, know that it came with a side of “please don’t think this is weird” and a whole lot of hope. Hope that we can reconnect. Hope that we can talk about art and life and faith and whatever else comes up. Hope that the connections we made years ago can bloom into something new.

    I’m still that person who second-guesses herself all the way through hitting “send.” But I’m also learning that some of the best things in life happen when you do the scary thing anyway.

    Thanks for being part of my journey, whether you realize it or not. I’m grateful for every encounter, every conversation, every moment that helped shape who I’m becoming.

    Now, let’s see what happens next. *nervous laugh*

    Are you someone who struggles with reaching out to old connections? I’d love to hear about it – sometimes knowing we’re not alone in the awkwardness makes it easier to be brave.

  • When Art Becomes a Trust Exercise: The Sad Reality of Online Art Sales

    When Art Becomes a Trust Exercise: The Sad Reality of Online Art Sales

    Sunday, August 24, 2025 – 5:58 AM

    This morning I got a message that broke my heart in a way I wasn’t expecting.

    Someone had seen my work, expressed genuine interest, and asked for my Etsy link. Normal stuff, right? But then they followed up with, “Do you have legit tracking that you send?”

    And it hit me. They weren’t questioning my professionalism – they were protecting themselves. Someone had hurt them before. Some scammer had taken their money, maybe sent them nothing, or worse. Now here they were, wanting to support a real artist but having to ask if I was… real.

    The Scammer Playbook (And Why We’re All Tired of It)

    If you’re an artist selling online, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The messages start the same way every time:

    “I love your work! Can you send me your Etsy link?”

    Your heart jumps a little. A potential sale! Someone who appreciates what you create! Then comes the pivot:

    • “I can’t purchase through Etsy, can you send it directly?”
    • “I need you to send me a piece first for account verification”
    • “I want to promote your work on my page – just need your banking info”
    • “My assistant will send you a check for more than the amount, just send the difference back”

    Every single time, that initial excitement gets crushed. Because you know. You’ve learned to recognize the pattern. Another scammer trying to prey on artists who are just trying to share their gifts with the world.

    The Ripple Effect That’s Breaking My Heart

    But here’s what really gets me – it’s not just about the scammers. It’s about what they’re doing to everyone else.

    That person who asked about “legit tracking” this morning? They’ve been burned. Maybe multiple times. Now they have to approach every artist with suspicion. They can’t just fall in love with a piece and buy it. They have to investigate first. Protect themselves first.

    And honestly? I don’t blame them.

    As artists, we’ve had to become detectives too. Every inquiry gets the side-eye now. Is this person real? Are they actually interested in my work, or are they about to ask me to send them something “for verification”?

    It’s exhausting. And it’s heartbreaking.

    What Real Actually Looks Like

    Here’s the thing – legitimate artists aren’t trying to work around established platforms. We WANT you to use Etsy, or our website, or whatever secure payment system we’ve set up. We want you to have buyer protection. We want you to feel safe.

    Real artists:

    • Use established platforms with buyer protection
    • Provide tracking information through those platforms
    • Never ask for your banking information
    • Don’t need you to “verify” anything by sending money or products first
    • Are happy to answer questions about our process, materials, and shipping

    When I price my work now, I’m completely transparent – art supplies + shipping material + minimal profit for sustainability (generally $1-$3 for my smaller hand drawn pieces depending on time spent on the piece). That’s it. No hidden fees, no complicated payment schemes. Because authentic art sales shouldn’t be complicated.

    The Bigger Picture That’s Got Me Feeling Heavy

    This whole situation makes me sad for reasons that go way beyond business. Art is supposed to be about connection. It’s about someone seeing something you created and feeling something. It’s about supporting creativity and bringing beauty into the world.

    But now? Now it’s become a game of “are you real or not?”

    Every time someone has to ask if my tracking is “legit,” a little piece of the joy gets chipped away. Not because they’re wrong to ask – they’re absolutely right to protect themselves. But because they have to ask at all.

    The scammers aren’t just stealing money. They’re stealing trust. They’re stealing the simple joy of “I love this, I want to buy it.” They’re making every interaction start with suspicion instead of appreciation.

    Moving Forward (With Hope, Somehow)

    I don’t have a magic solution for this mess. The scammers aren’t going anywhere, and the wariness they’ve created is probably permanent.

    But maybe we can start somewhere. Maybe we can be extra patient with each other. Maybe buyers can know that real artists understand your caution and won’t be offended by your questions. Maybe artists can be more transparent about our processes and more understanding about the skepticism we encounter.

    And maybe, just maybe, we can slowly rebuild some of that trust that’s been broken.

    Because at the end of the day, I still believe in the magic that happens when someone connects with a piece of art. I still believe in the joy of creating something that brings light into someone else’s world.

    I just wish we didn’t have to verify each other’s humanity first.

    What’s your experience been with online art purchases? Have you been burned by scammers, or are you an artist dealing with this same frustration? I’d love to hear your thoughts – the real ones, from real people, in this complicated digital world we’re all trying to navigate.

  • Monday Morning Grace

    Monday Morning Grace

    There’s something both brutal and beautiful about Monday mornings. The weekend’s gentle pace collides with the week’s demands, and suddenly we’re expected to shift gears like it’s nothing.

    But what if we approached this transition differently? What if Sunday evenings became our bridge to Monday grace instead of letting Monday morning shock our systems awake?

    I’ve been learning to give myself (and my family) a little extra grace on Mondays – not just in the moment, but in the preparation. It’s about creating space for each of us to transition in our own way, honoring the different rhythms that help us feel ready for the week ahead.

    Finding Our Family’s Monday Rhythm

    Each of us has discovered what we need to feel prepared:

    Jay (bless him) thrives on consistency – up and ready at the same time every day with steady routines that keep him grounded. But this also means when something interrupts that flow, it can throw off his whole day.

    Aspen has mastered the art of Sunday night prep, giving herself permission to wake a little later and just grab-and-go. She’s figured out how to honor her need for extra sleep while still being ready.

    And me? I’ve learned that my Monday grace often happens on Sunday – making sure their routines can flow smoothly, because when Monday starts rocky for them, those stressors ripple through our entire week.

    The Ripple Effect of Understanding

    This family rhythm-finding has taught me something deeper about grace in leadership too. When we take time to understand each person’s individual stressors and preparation needs, we create space for everyone to show up as their best selves. It’s not about forcing one approach on everyone – it’s about honoring the different ways people reset and recharge.

    Monday morning grace looks like acknowledging the transition instead of pretending it’s seamless. It’s okay if it takes a minute to find your rhythm again. It’s okay if your Monday prep looks different from everyone else’s.

    What does Monday morning grace look like in your world? How do you honor your own rhythm while creating space for others to find theirs?

  • When the School Bell Rings: Finding Sacred Pause in August’s Rush

    When the School Bell Rings: Finding Sacred Pause in August’s Rush

    The back-to-school aisles are calling. Lunch boxes, folders, and that particular scent of fresh crayons that somehow makes every parent simultaneously excited and slightly panicked. Whether you’re sending a middle schooler off to navigate new hallways (hello, Aspen!) or you’re the one heading back to work after a slower summer rhythm, August has this way of hitting like a gentle tsunami.

    I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after our recent Branson vacation – those slow mornings on the cabin porch, the luxury of not checking the clock every five minutes. There’s something sacred about those unhurried moments that we tend to abandon the second “real life” kicks back in.

    But here’s what I’m learning: the busy doesn’t have to overwhelm us.

    The Myth of August Survival Mode

    We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that busy seasons require us to shift into survival mode – gulp coffee instead of savoring it, rush through conversations, let self-care slide “just until things settle down.” But what if the busy seasons are exactly when we need our anchoring practices most?

    I think about the staff meetings I facilitate, the payroll deadlines that don’t negotiate, the art projects calling from my studio. Each one important, each one demanding attention. But somewhere between the urgent and the important, I’ve discovered there’s space for breath.

    Sacred Pauses in Chaotic Rhythms

    A sacred pause doesn’t require a meditation retreat or an hour of quiet time (though wouldn’t that be nice?). Sometimes it’s:

    – Taking three deep breaths before opening your laptop

    – Saying a quick prayer of gratitude while waiting in the school pickup line  

    – Choosing to actually taste your morning coffee instead of just consuming it

    – Letting yourself feel proud of small wins – like getting everyone out the door with matching socks

    These aren’t Instagram-worthy moments, but they’re life-giving ones.

    Permission to Pace Yourself

    Here’s your gentle reminder: You don’t have to match everyone else’s pace. You don’t have to say yes to every opportunity, volunteer for every committee, or maintain the same energy level from August through December.

    Some seasons call for sprinting. Others call for steady walking. And sometimes – especially during transitions – we need to give ourselves permission to find our rhythm without judgment.

    Questions for Your Heart

    As you navigate this back-to-school season, maybe sit with these questions:

    – What one practice helps you feel most grounded when life gets hectic?

    – Where can you build in tiny moments of pause throughout your day?

    – What would it look like to approach this busy season with curiosity instead of dread?

    – How can you model healthy rhythms for the people watching you (kids, coworkers, friends)?

    A Prayer for Busy Seasons

    *God, as schedules fill and demands increase, help us remember that our worth isn’t measured by our productivity. Grant us wisdom to know when to push forward and when to rest. May we find You in the ordinary moments – the school drop-offs, the work meetings, the evening routines. Help us create space for what matters most, even when everything feels urgent. Amen.*

    Moving Forward

    The school bells will ring. The calendars will fill. The to-do lists will multiply. But you – beautiful, capable, sometimes overwhelmed you – get to choose how you move through it all.

    Maybe this year, instead of just surviving the busy, we learn to find the sacred within it.

    What’s one small way you’re planning to stay grounded this school year? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

  • When Meal Plans Meet Real Life: Finding Your Family’s Food Rhythm

    When Meal Plans Meet Real Life: Finding Your Family’s Food Rhythm

    We’ve all been there – weekend grocery shopping with the best intentions, armed with meal plans and fresh ingredients, ready to conquer the busy week ahead. Then Monday hits, and suddenly every carefully planned dinner seems to require more time, energy, or ingredients than you actually have.

    Some weeks, elaborate meal planning goes straight out the window. That’s when simple swaps become your saving grace.

    Finding Our Own Family Rhythm

    I remember a summer evening when Jay and I were sitting down to what was definitely not the Pinterest-worthy family dinner I’d envisioned. While I was internally critiquing our less-than-perfect setup, he reminded me of something important: each family has to find their own rhythm. Whether or not it matches the cultural image of how things “should” look doesn’t matter – what matters is meeting our own family’s needs and making it work for us, whatever that ends up looking like.

    That conversation shifted everything for me. Instead of beating myself up for not cooking elaborate meals from scratch, I learned to make small upgrades that still nourish without the stress:

    • Kodiak individual oatmeal and muffin cups instead of full pancake batches (hello, protein boost!)
    • Pre-cut veggies to speed up weeknight prep
    • Rotisserie chicken for quick, real-food meals
    • Frozen veggies that won’t guilt-trip me from the crisper drawer
    • Bulk prepping basics: hard-boiled eggs, brown rice, slow-cooked seasoned proteins that work with anything

    Redefining “Family Dinner”

    It’s also meant releasing the Norman Rockwell imagery that used to haunt my kitchen. Our work-and-school-week dinners might happen standing at the counter, or with everyone eating at slightly different times, or with paper plates because nobody has energy for dishes. And that’s perfectly fine.

    What matters is being comfortable in our space, having nourishing food, and connecting as a family – even if that connection happens over reheated leftovers.

    Perfect is the enemy of good, especially in the kitchen. Progress over perfection wins every time. Grace over guilt creates space for what actually matters.

    What’s your favorite healthy swap for crazy-busy weeks? How has your family found its own food rhythm?

  • When Art Becomes Prayer: Creating for Joy vs. Purpose

    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I create. Not the surface-level “because I love art” answer, but the deeper question that keeps surfacing during my Thursday night live sessions: Am I creating for joy, or am I creating for purpose?

    Alcohol ink and acrylic on canvas – 🌟 this is my motto when the world and my mood seem to be swimming in shades of gray… throw some color (and positivity) on it.

    It’s a question that’s been dancing around my heart, especially as I’ve shifted SCS Designs toward a more ministry-focused approach. And honestly? I think I’ve been wrestling with a false choice.

    The Joy of Creating

    There’s this magic that happens when I’m lost in a piece – when the brush moves without my brain overthinking every stroke. It’s pure, childlike flow. The kind of creating where time disappears and suddenly I look up to find I’ve been painting for three hours straight.

    This is creating for joy. It’s spontaneous, unplanned, deeply personal. Success isn’t measured by likes or sales, but by how alive I feel in that moment. It’s art as prayer, art as breathing, art as being fully present with God in the process.

    This piece caught me by surprise in the loveliest way. Dabbling with colors and letting my mind wander as I created in a state of flow, this cotton candy sky emerged with whimsy and the call to escape into new adventures.

    The Purpose Behind the Paint

    But then there’s the other side – the pieces I create knowing someone needs to see them. The zentangle prayer guides born from my own need for spiritual grounding. The scripture art that whispers hope to a weary heart scrolling through Facebook at midnight.

    This is creating for purpose. There’s intention behind every decision, every color choice, every word I letter. I’m thinking about who needs this message, how it might land in their day, what healing it might offer. The impact on others becomes part of what fuels the creative fire.

    A piece that called to me – this was created for a friend who was considering a music position with our church. It includes the hymn that inspired him during that season “All That I Am”. This piece was specific to his interests, blending music, the hymn refrain, and water to represent his love for diving. And tucked into various places, little prayers and other song lyrics were written to carry the prayer for his peace and confidence with regard to the Music Director position. Here, purpose carried through the creation process to share a special message with him. 🧡

    Finding the Sacred Balance

    Here’s what I’m learning: joy and purpose don’t have to be at odds. In fact, the most powerful art I’ve created has been when they dance together.

    My Thursday live sessions are the perfect example. I create for the pure joy of the process – the meditative rhythm of zentangle patterns, the surprise of watching colors blend on canvas. But I’m also deeply aware that someone watching might need exactly what unfolds in that moment. The joy becomes the vehicle for purpose.

    When I made the decision to shift to ministry-over-profit pricing, something clicked. I wasn’t creating just to make money (which can slowly drain the joy) or just for myself (which might miss the deeper calling). I was creating because the act of making art AND sharing it brought both personal fulfillment and served something bigger than me.

    The Beautiful Tension

    Sometimes I wonder if this tension is actually sacred. Maybe the question isn’t whether to create for joy or purpose, but how to let them inform each other. When what lights me up is exactly what the world needs to see – that’s when art becomes prayer, becomes ministry, becomes exactly what it’s meant to be.

    As I sit here tonight, paintbrush in hand and another piece calling to be born, I’m not asking myself which camp this one falls into. Instead, I’m asking: What wants to emerge through me right now? And how can I show up fully – joyfully, purposefully – to whatever that is?

    Because maybe that’s where the real magic lives – in the space where joy meets purpose, where personal expression serves something greater, where creating becomes both gift and offering.

    What about you? Do you feel a different energy when you’re creating purely for joy versus when you have a specific purpose in mind? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

  • Escaping to the Ozarks – Finding Magic in the Mountains

    Sometimes the best lessons come disguised as vacation days. Our recent escape to the Ozarks wasn’t just about getting away – it was about remembering how to breathe, how to notice, and how to let life unfold without a rigid schedule dictating every moment.

    Highest point in Branson, MO

    ## **The Journey & Mountain Magic**

    The drive to Branson felt like crossing into another world – one where time moved slower and the air tasted different. For my family across the ocean reading this, imagine rolling hills that seem to go on forever, dotted with little cabins and lakes that mirror the sky perfectly. We stayed in a place that felt like a storybook, complete with a porch that begged for morning coffee and evening conversations.

    The forest path down from our cabin
    Branson/Hollister bridge

    **David at Sight & Sound Theatre** was pure magic – the kind of production that makes you forget you’re sitting in a theater. The massive stage, live animals, and storytelling that transported us completely out of our everyday world. There’s something about experiencing art at that scale with family that creates memories you can feel in your chest years later.

    The statue of the lion and the lamb outside of the Sight & Sound Theatre

    Our **Pink Jeep tour with Sid** took us off the beaten path and into the rugged heart of the Ozarks. The downtown Branson route combined with the mountaintop scenic tour gave us perspectives of this place that you just can’t get from the main roads. Winding through trails with panoramic views of valleys stretching endlessly, breathing in that mountain air – it felt like adventure and peace wrapped together.

    The **escape room experience** (“Echoes of the Badlands”) turned into an unexpected confidence boost when we finished with 21 minutes to spare! For a first-timer, working alongside two other groups and actually succeeding felt like proof that sometimes the best discoveries happen when you try something completely new.

    Aspen and I after accomplishing our first room escape – can’t wait to do another one 😁

    **Meeting Luke** added that personal touch that transforms a vacation from tourist activities to genuine connection. There’s something special about locals who love their place so much that their enthusiasm becomes contagious – suddenly you’re seeing Branson through the eyes of someone who calls it home.

    Check out Full Throttle Distillery if you’re in the Branson area and ask for Luke! 🌟

    Even our practical moments became part of the adventure – **grocery shopping and craft mall exploring** on Monday, **making lasagna to last the week** (brilliant vacation meal planning), and **Aspen getting arcade time at the Bigfoot place** while Marcia enjoyed her shopping. These weren’t just logistics; they were the rhythm of family vacation life.

    Experiencing the Butterfly Palace included trying to entice as many butterflies to the nectar tubes as you could – slow and calm was essential for them to stick around 🫶
    About the only place where it’s ok for people to throw food 😂
    One of the last Dick’s 5 & 10 stores in the US
    Hollywood Wax Museum, plus Castle of Chaos – both were AWESOME to explore
    Ripley’s Believe It or Not Museum – I love this quote from Robert Ripley 🧡

    The mountains don’t rush. They’ve been there for thousands of years, watching seasons change, storms pass, and families like ours create memories in their shadows. There’s something humbling about that kind of permanence when your daily life feels like it’s moving at warp speed.

    ## **Cabin Mornings & The Art of Slowing Down**

    That first morning on the cabin porch changed everything. Coffee in hand, watching the world wake up without an agenda – I realized I’d forgotten how to just *be*. No mental checklist running in the background, no urgent emails demanding attention, no schedule dictating when this peaceful moment had to end.

    The cabin porch became my classroom in the art of slowing down. The mountains were teaching me their rhythm: unhurried, steady, present.

    I started noticing things I usually miss in the rush of daily life. The way morning light filtered through the trees differently each day. How the birds had their own schedule that had nothing to do with human urgency. The sound of absolutely nothing except nature doing what it does best – simply being.

    One of several visitors directly off of the cabin porch – they nested in the roof eaves and would flit back and forth with little whistles and chirps

    Those cabin mornings reminded me that slowing down isn’t about being lazy or unproductive. It’s about remembering that life happens in moments, not just in achievements. It’s about giving yourself permission to exist without constantly doing.

    ## **Lessons from the Mountains**

    The Ozarks don’t apologize for their pace. They don’t rush through seasons or hurry toward the next milestone. They simply are – magnificent, steady, and completely present in whatever season they’re experiencing.

    Sitting on that cabin porch each morning, I realized I’d been treating my life like a race instead of a journey. Always focused on the next task, the next goal, the next thing that needed to be accomplished. The mountains were showing me a different way – the beauty of being fully present in the current season instead of rushing toward the next one.

    Vivid colored birds were also at the Butterfly Palace
    Local artisans offered incredible selections – these lifetime candles include a wick that paired with lamp oil endlessly burns (the one in the shop has been going for 42 years!)

    This wasn’t just a vacation revelation; it was a life shift. The cabin became a sanctuary where I could practice the lost art of simply being present. No agenda except to notice. No timeline except the natural rhythm of sunrise and sunset.

    ## **Bringing Mountain Time Home**

    The real test isn’t finding peace on a cabin porch in the Ozarks – it’s carrying that mountain rhythm back into everyday life. Those morning moments taught me that slowing down isn’t about changing my entire schedule; it’s about changing my relationship with time itself.

    I’m learning to create cabin porch moments in my regular life. Five minutes with coffee before the day begins. A pause to actually taste my lunch instead of skipping or staying busy through it. Choosing to notice the sunset instead of rushing past it toward the next task.

    The mountains reminded me that some of life’s most important moments happen in the spaces between – the unplanned conversations, the spontaneous detours, the decision to sit on the porch five minutes longer just because.

    *What would change if you gave yourself permission to move at mountain time, even for just a few moments each day?*