The Tower of Pentecost
The godly play story for Pentecost has some powerful imagery. I used the story a couple weeks ago in Sunday school for 3 boys (it was a light Sunday), two boys age 8, one boy aged 12. The story starts with building blocks (this felt appropriate for 3 boys!) and as I was speaking, I was building a tower. But the tower is a bit precarious!
There was once a great tower. Everyone working on the tower spoke the same language and worked together. But as the tower grew taller and taller, they began to talk in different ways. The tower came close to God, but the people forgot why they were building it. They grew so proud of themselves that they began to think they were greater builders than God. Each group thought it was better than any of the others. They stopped working together.
At this point, I placed the final block. The tower wobbled for a moment and then crashed down with a loud clatter.
Soon the tower fell down, so it was called the “Tower of Babel.” The language of the people of the earth was shattered. It broke into splinters. Each one was beautiful, but it was broken.
The story goes on to talk about Jesus and his disciples and his last days on earth and then his ascension. At the end of the story, when we started to talk about the Holy Spirit coming, I decided to add something to the story! I thought it might be fun to show the tower being built again, only this time, the tower is completely stable. So while I spoke, I built it again:
They were so excited that people wondered what was going on. There were people there from many different countries. They spoke many different languages, but everyone could understand what they were saying. Everyone could see that the Twelve had come close to God—and God had come close to them—in a new way.
During that last sentence, I indicated the strong tower, the idea that God had redeemed Babel and through His Holy God made a new way for us to draw close to him and, through the Spirit, to one another.
At the end, when I asked about their favorite parts, one of the boys (who has spent the year telling me how much he doesn’t like godly play) (ok, it was my son) said:
I liked how the tower was unstable when the people tried to reach God in their own strength, but it was stable and strong when the Holy Spirit gave us a new way to be with God.
My friends, I was blown away, and not just because it was my kid! This is the power of story. If I had said to my son, “God gave us a way to meet with God that is so much better than anything we could do in our human strength” it would have had much less impact. My son didn't just repeat something I had told him. He made a connection for himself. The image of the tower stayed with him long enough for him to notice the contrast between Babel and Pentecost. He discovered the meaning rather than being handed an explanation.
Story gives us room to wonder. It lets us enter the mystery instead of rushing to explain it. Sometimes a falling tower can teach more than a hundred carefully chosen words.
So once again I think maybe this is what Jesus meant when he spoke about becoming like children. Children are often less interested in mastering a lesson than in entering it. They are willing to sit with a story, play with it, notice its patterns, and discover meaning for themselves, even a 12-year-old preteen!
As adults, we can be tempted to rush toward explanations. But the spiritual life often grows through attention rather than certainty. Perhaps this week, think about what story, image, or ordinary object might God be using to get your attention? And what might happen if, instead of trying to figure it out right away, you approached it with the curiosity of a child and simply wondered?
Creative Prompt: Draw a path of stones
Where does the path go?
Most of us want to see the whole path before we begin but so much of life looks more like stepping stones than a paved road.
Draw, color, or paint a path of stepping stones (or use this coloring page) across your page and let the path travel somewhere. As you draw, hold this wondering:
Where does the path go?
Not necessarily where you think it should go, just notice what emerges.
After coloring, start adding details around the path. Does it have flowers? Grass between the stones? Are there trees along the way?
Wondering Questions
I wonder where this path wants to lead?
I wonder what it feels like not to know the destination yet?
I wonder what step is right in front of me today?
I wonder where Jesus might be walking beside me on this path?
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite children to:
Draw a path of stepping stones.
Decide where it goes.
Maybe it leads to:
a castle
a treehouse
a dragon
a treasure chest
a giant ice cream cone
Wonder together:
Where does your path go?
What might you find along the way?
Who would you like to walk with you?
There are no wrong destinations.
When you finish your path, take a moment to look at it.
Notice: Does the destination matter most? Or do your eyes linger on the stones themselves?
What if Jesus isn't only waiting at the end of the path? What if He is present on every stone along the way?
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
How do you create + play? Interview with Audrey
This interview is a special one because today we get to hear from a teenager who is very special to me. She is someone who has taught me to create just for the fun of it, to play with different mediums, to take chances, and to keep going. I've never seen someone develop a style that is so distinctly her own and then continue to work at it, allowing it to grow and evolve while still remaining uniquely hers.
But beyond all of that, she reminds me of something I am often learning: children have much to teach us about how to play, create, and approach God.
As she shares about drawing favorite characters, trying new artistic mediums, and reconnecting with her inner child through watercolor, we are invited to consider how creating helps us notice who we are, what we love, and the ways God quietly meets us there.
What do you like to create? What brings you back to creating so often?
My favorite way to create is through drawing, especially drawing people, though I really enjoy drawing anything. I've spent years, from the time I was a little kid until now as a 15-year-old, developing my own unique style.
What usually brings me back to creating is a good character. Whether they're from a movie, book, video game, or TV show, I often become attached to a favorite character. The way I express my appreciation for that character is by drawing them.
What happens in you when you're creating? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
When I'm creating, I notice that I feel content. I don't need to be anything more than I am in those moments. I can simply use the talent I have right now without feeling like I need to improve for myself or anyone else.
Do you ever create in a community? If so, what happens when you are creating with someone else?
I mostly create by myself as a way of expressing my thoughts, but I also take art classes at school. More than anything, those classes have helped bring me out of my comfort zone and encouraged me to try new mediums, subjects, and techniques.
Has creating ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
I think creating helps me connect with my innermost self more than anything else. My drawings are some of the rawest expressions of who I am. They show my interests, the things I love, and even things I sometimes struggle to understand or control.
One of my favorite parts of creating is connecting with my inner child. When I watercolor, I often feel like a little kid again, simply trying to make a beautiful picture with hands that may not have practiced enough. There's something freeing about that.
If you can imagine Jesus sitting with you while you create, what do you think he is doing, saying, or thinking?
I don't think Jesus necessarily says anything when He's with me. Instead, I think He uses my art to reveal deeper meanings and show me different parts of His grace and beauty.
I also think He's the source of that feeling of contentment I mentioned earlier. He helps me know that I don't need to be anything else in those moments. I can simply be myself.
Creative Prompt: Paint Balloons
Write tiny joyful moments inside each one.
Today's creative practice is an invitation to notice them all the tiny moments of joy through an ordinary day.
Paint or color a page full of balloons or use this coloring page. As each balloon takes shape, write a tiny joyful moment inside it.
You might fill your balloons with things like:
hearing birds outside your window
fresh sheets
a good conversation
finding something you thought was lost
sunlight on the floor
finishing a project
a favorite song
a moment of quiet
Let each balloon become a small celebration.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what joyful moments I usually overlook?
I wonder which balloon was easiest to fill?
I wonder which one was hardest?
I wonder what helps me notice joy when it appears?
I wonder where Jesus has been delighting in these ordinary moments alongside me?
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite children to paint or draw lots of balloons.
Inside each balloon, help them:
write something fun they did
draw something they love
add a favorite memory from the week
Wonder together:
What made you smile recently?
Which balloon would float the highest?
What is one small thing that made today better?
There's no wrong answer.
A Closing Invitation
When your balloons are finished, step back and look at the whole page, a collection of ordinary joys. As you look at your balloons, you might carry this wondering with you:
I wonder what joy Jesus is inviting me to notice today?
And perhaps that noticing is its own kind of celebration.
Attention, Surrender, and the Life we Have
I worry that by using the term “make space” I’m portraying a false idea that the way to the abundant life with God is to somehow just carve out time for ourselves and for God during the day. Yes, I do encourage setting aside time to be creative and to play so that hopefully, bit by bit, our perspectives shift to begin to see the abundance that was already there.
But abundance is not something we can simply carve out time for. That is an exhausting and unfulfilling road. This month I wanted to say “make space for abundance,” but that’s wrong. We don’t make space for abundance. The abundance is already a given. God has already filled our lives with His presence, goodness, beauty, and love. What we do every month is make space to notice that abundance by recognizing beauty, practicing hospitality, releasing certain expectations, and so many more things that I’ve talked about on here.
I can give you tips and tricks and creative prompts and prayers and examens, and all of that, added up over a long period of time, might help us slowly shift our attention. But none of those things create abundance. At their best, they help us notice what God is already doing and receive what He is already giving.
God has promised us an abundant life, but so often we wonder where it is. We continue to strive and strive and wonder why God has let us down. Our attention is so focused on our to-do lists, our plans, our worries, and all the things we think we need to accomplish that it is no longer focused on God and how He might actually want us to live.
Where we place our attention matters. Are we paying attention to God’s abundance? Can we stop wherever we are, in whatever we are doing, and notice God’s abundance all around us?
If it were as simple as deciding to pay attention, we would probably all be doing it already. Most of us know what it feels like to catch glimpses of God's abundance one moment and then lose sight of it the next. We know what it is like to want to notice more deeply and yet find ourselves distracted, anxious, striving, or simply asleep to what God is doing.
So what can we do to be able to really, really notice?
And that right there is the problem.
There is nothing we can do to manufacture it, because it is the work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. It is grace from beginning to end. Even our ability to notice is a gift. Not to say the practices are meaningless, but they are not the source. In our humanness, we think it would be easier to just do a few creative prompts and suddenly become aware of the abundance all around us. We want a formula, a checklist, or something we can control.
But the only way to even notice the abundant life of God is path of surrender. It feels hard because surrender always does. It requires us to let go of our striving, our plans, and the illusion that we can somehow create the life we are longing for. Maybe before we ask whether we can notice God’s abundance, we have to ask something simpler: can we receive the life we actually have right now, without resisting it or wishing it were different? And from that place, can we begin to notice God’s abundance already here, in the very life we are living?
When we do surrender, our attention slowly begins to shift. This is where those good spiritual practices come in. We begin to make space in new ways, and over time we find ourselves noticing God’s abundance where we couldn’t see it before. Life may not have changed, but our eyes are more open to His presence, goodness, beauty, and love.
So try the creative prompts. Carve out time for attention and reflection with God. But hold them gently, not as a formula or something that you can fail and will bring shame, and not as something that will force clarity. They are simply ways of making space to receive what is already being given.
An examen for the end of the school year
This examen is a simple way of prayerful reflection of the past school year, remembering, noticing, and receiving God’s grace in the ordinary days. Start with a few minutes of quiet and some deep breaths. Ask God to guide your thoughts and feelings as you take time to reflect over the last year.
Remember
What moments from this school year stand out most vividly to me?
Where did I feel most alive, most myself?
Where did I feel God’s nearness?
Give Thanks
What gifts did this school year hold for me, big or small?
Who am I especially grateful for from this past year?
How was I able to find play, rest, or joy throughout the year?
Notice
In what areas did I feel weary, restless, or distracted?
Are there any places where I may have needed help from my community?
Where did I sense God’s absence, or my own distance from God?
What have these moments taught me about myself?
Look Forward
What do I want to carry with me from this school year? In the summer, into the next school year, or through my life?
What might God be inviting me to let go of?
What blessing, prayer, or grace do I need for this next season?
Close
Rest for a moment in God’s love and care for you. Imagine God holding all this with you.
Draw Near: Summer Online Retreats
This summer, I’ll be offering a small series of online Draw Near Retreats. Simple creative spaces to pause, notice, and make room for God together.
These retreats are not art classes. You don’t need artistic experience, and there’s no pressure to create something impressive or meaningful. We’ll simply use simple creative practices as a way of slowing down and paying attention to what God may be stirring in our lives.
Each one-hour retreat will include:
a short guided time of quiet and settling
gentle wondering questions and reflection prompts
space to work on your own craft or creative project
a brief optional sharing time at the end
You’re welcome to bring any quiet creative practice: knitting, watercolor, journaling, embroidery, collage, coloring, mending, or something else entirely. If you’d rather not gather supplies yourself, you can also request a simple collage kit mailed ahead of time.
The retreats are for adults and are offered with a suggested $10 donation, though no one will be turned away for financial reasons.
You are always welcome to keep your camera and microphone off if that feels more comfortable. These gatherings are meant to be gentle, spacious, and low-pressure. There will not be recordings available, as part of creating a more present and shared experience together.
My hope is that these retreats become a small way of practicing God’s presence in community, making space to listen, reflect, create, and draw near.
All retreats will take place online from 12–1pm.
June 16
July 16
August 12
If you’re interested, feel free to contact me by commenting, email, or my website for more details.
Creative Prompt: Paint Confetti
Confetti is usually connected to loud celebration: But what if joy could also be slow?
Today’s creative practice is an invitation to slow down enough to notice joy in small pieces.
Using any kind of paint, crayon, or marker (or use this coloring page) to begin making confetti on your page:
dots
tiny lines
little rectangles
small splashes of color
But instead of working quickly, paint each piece slowly and intentionally, one mark at a time.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what feels playful to me right now?
I wonder when I stopped slowing down enough for small joys?
I wonder which colors feel most alive today?
I wonder if joy can arrive quietly?
I wonder where Jesus might already be inviting me into delight?
You don’t need to answer the questions. Let them accompany you.
A Kid-Friendly Version
This is already such a kid-friendly creative prompt, one that you can do together, side-by-side. Use these questions to help prompt conversation:
Which color feels happiest today?
Which dot is your favorite?
What would this confetti be celebrating?
Do you think Jesus likes it when we color together?
You can even play gentle music while you work slowly together.
When you finish, sit with your page for a moment. You might carry this wondering with you: What if joy is already scattered throughout my life waiting to be noticed?
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
Joy and Grief
I’m beginning to realize that joy has a lot to do with attention. There’s an invitation in Philippians to think about what is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and admirable. Not as a way of ignoring reality, but as a way of anchoring ourselves in what is still good and still real. And I think that’s where joy grows. Not because hard things suddenly disappear, but because they stop being the only thing filling our vision.
There is still a kind of choosing involved, but not in the sense of “I will force myself to feel joyful.” It’s more like: I will stay open to goodness and beauty and will keep returning my attention to what is true.
And at the same time, I’m learning that joy isn’t something I manufacture by sheer effort. Scripture calls it a fruit of the Holy Spirit, which means it grows from connection to God, not just our human determination. That matters, because there are seasons when joy feels far away, especially when life is exhausting or grief is heavy or for some reason we feel numb. In those moments, it’s easy to assume something is wrong with us spiritually.
But I don’t think the absence of strong feelings means the absence of joy. Sometimes joy looks less like exuberance and more like allowing ourselves to stay soft to the Spirit, even when it would be easier to harden ourselves.
Joy and grief are not opposites competing for space. Joy doesn’t ignore grief, but it does refuse to let grief define everything.
If you’re looking for practical, everyday ways to actually make space for joy, I wrote more about that here. (link to Post 1)
But underneath all of it, this is what I’m holding onto: I can’t force joy to appear, but I can make space for it, surrendering to the work of the Holy Spirit. I can pay attention to what is still good and true and I can trust that even small moments of joy are worth noticing.
How do you create + play? Interview with Jane J.
There is something deeply comforting about watching hands create slowly and attentively. Yarn moving through fingers, stitches forming one by one, something beautiful growing almost unnoticed over time.
In this interview, I heard from a knitter whose creative practice began beside her grandmother and has continued through many different seasons of life. What emerges through her story is more than simply a hobby. Knitting has become a rhythm of peace, prayer, connection, and care; a way of slowing down enough to notice beauty and lovingly create for others.
Her reflections remind us that creativity doesn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes the simplest acts of making become quiet expressions of love, presence, and grace.
What first drew you to knitting and what keeps you coming back to it now?
What first drew me to knitting was watching my grandmother knit. She was an avid knitter who made beautiful sweaters, blankets, mittens, and scarves. She even knitted all of our family’s Christmas stockings. I loved sitting with her while she knitted. We would have sweet talks, and she could carry on a conversation and knit without skipping a beat.
My mom knitted a little too, and one summer when I was bored, I decided I wanted to learn. I made a very interesting scarf, but I was proud of myself. There is something so fulfilling about taking yarn and two knitting needles and creating something special for someone. There are seasons when I don’t knit at all, and other seasons when I can’t put it down.
What happens in you when you’re knitting? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
I feel so relaxed when I’m knitting. It brings me such joy. I notice that I breathe easier, and it helps me release some of the tension from the day. It feels good to keep my hands busy, concentrate on the pattern, and quiet some of the noise in my head.
I especially love making prayer shawls and baby blankets. When I’m working on those, I feel so much peace and joy as I pray specifically for the person or baby receiving them. I notice that I feel closer to God. It feels like a privilege to pray for others in such a special way.
Do you ever create in community? If so, what happens when you are creating with someone else?
In the past, I’ve been part of a crafting community where we would gather together, bring the projects we were working on, sit in a circle, and share. It was wonderful to see what others were making and to share my knitting with them as well. Creating together draws us closer through a shared joy.
Has knitting ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
Knitting helps me slow down and relax. I find a comfy spot to sit and knit, and I notice the beauty of the yarn — the colors, the softness, and the texture.
I also feel connected to something bigger than myself. Many of the things I make are given to people I love and pray for regularly. It is sweet to know they are blessed by the finished piece as much as I am blessed while making it.
If you can imagine Jesus sitting with you while you are knitting, what do you think he is doing/saying/thinking?
I can imagine Jesus sitting with me and being pleased that I am doing something I love. I think He is happy that I’m using my talents to help others feel loved and cared for. A prayer shawl is like receiving a big hug. I feel Jesus with me while I knit.
I often think how special it would have been to sit at the feet of Jesus and knit Him a scarf or a hat.
What would you say to someone who wishes they could create like that, but doesn’t know where to start?
I would say, “I have some knitting needles and plenty of yarn — I’ll help you get started.” I would encourage them to begin with something simple and slowly work up to more challenging projects.
I would also tell them that the pieces don’t have to be perfect. There are things I’ve made where I chose not to go back and fix every mistake because they remind me that I’m not perfect, and God still loves me. It’s a wonderful lesson in being humble while also being proud of what you’ve created.
Creative and generous God, thank you for planting your creativity in us, so that when we create we can feel closer to you and your delight in us. Bless Jane, that with each stitch, she would feel your peace and your love for her. May the people who receive her beautiful gifts, feel not only her love, but yours as well. Help her to feel your delight in her as she creates.
Practicing the Presence prompt: Photograph something bright
Photograph something bright.
Then ask yourself:
What brought you joy today?
Practicing the presence is about paying attention to God in ordinary life. Brother Lawrence wrote about finding God in everyday tasks, not through big spiritual experiences, but through simple awareness and attention.
Joy can help us do that. When you stop to photograph something bright, you’re practicing noticing instead of rushing past your life.
Not every day feels joyful, and this practice isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s simply an invitation to pay attention to small moments of goodness and presence. So today, look for something bright.
Pause for a moment. Take the photo. Notice the joy that was already there.
a wordless prayer to make space for joy
Sit quietly for a moment with your hands open in front of you, palms up.
In one hand, imagine placing everything heavy you’re carrying: worries, sadness, stress, fear, exhaustion, disappointment. Let that hand hold the weight of it all.
In the other hand, imagine gathering small pieces of joy: something beautiful, funny, comforting, peaceful, or good. A person you love. A memory that made you laugh. The color of the sky. A tiny reminder that life still holds beauty.
Then slowly lift both hands toward God.
You don’t need many words. The gesture itself becomes a prayer:
“Here are the hard things.”
“And here is the joy You are still giving me.”
Sometimes joy isn’t found by ignoring what hurts. Sometimes it grows when we bring both the sorrow and the beauty honestly before God.
And sometimes, making space for joy simply means noticing that even now, good gifts are still being placed into our hands.
This is mostly a repost from a post written last fall that includes a kid-friendly option for a wordless prayer activity.
Creative Prompt: Color a cake
Decorate it for an ordinary thing worth celebrating.
We usually save celebration for the big things, the moments that feel obvious and important. But so much of life is made up of quieter things, like getting through a hard week, making dinner (again!), or good conversation.
Today’s creative practice is an invitation to celebrate something small and ordinary, not because it’s flashy, but because it matters.
Draw a cake (or use this coloring page) then decorate it for an ordinary thing worth celebrating.
You can write the reason on the cake stand, on candles, or secretly somewhere in the picture, or simply hold it quietly in your heart while you create.
Let the celebration be gentle and sincere.
Watercolor Option
Lightly sketch your cake shape.
Paint the layers, frosting, candles, sprinkles, or decorations in any colors you’d like.
Add details slowly:
stripes
dots
tiny flowers
mismatched candles
absurd amounts of frosting
Colored Pencil or Crayon Option
Draw your cake with bold lines.
Decorate every section differently:
patterns
swirls
confetti
words
tiny symbols of the thing you’re celebrating
You can even make each layer represent a different ordinary joy.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what ordinary thing deserves more celebration in my life?
I wonder why some moments feel “worthy” of celebration and others don’t?
I wonder what joy I rush past without noticing?
I wonder what it feels like to honor small goodness?
I wonder where Jesus might already be present in the ordinary parts of my life?
Let the questions stay playful and open.
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to:
Draw the most fun cake they can imagine.
Decorate it for something small but happy:
finishing a book
playing outside
helping someone
learning something new
being brave
Wonder together:
What would this cake taste like?
Who would you share it with?
What small thing made you happy this week?
There are no wrong celebrations here.
When you’re finished, look at your cake for a moment. What did you choose to celebrate? How did it feel to make space for that?
You might carry this wondering with you: What if joy grows every time we notice something worth celebrating? And maybe today, even this small creative moment belongs at the party too.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
Making Space for Joy (When It Keeps Getting Crowded Out)
I keep coming back to this question: is joy something we make space for, or is it something that comes when we finally make space? Because joy can feel strangely elusive. I don’t think it’s because joy itself is rare; I think maybe it’s because of how we live. Our attention pulled in a dozen different directions. And joy gets quietly pushed to the side.
When I look at the moments I actually recognize that it’s there (steady, grounded joy, not just quick happiness) they almost always come from a certain kind of space or attention. Space for nature, for creating something with my hands, for quiet or laughter. Space to that makes my heart soft and space to listen for the Holy Spirit instead of powering through my own agenda.
That kind of space doesn’t happen accidentally.
And if I’m honest, there are things that crowd it out:
-scrolling without noticing how long I’ve been there
-saying yes to one more thing when I’m already stretched
-living slightly rushed all day
-letting comparison run quietly in the background
If I don’t name those, I’ll just keep wondering “where is the joy?” when I haven’t given myself time to actually notice it.
Making space for joy is often less about adding something new and more about gently redirecting my attention: choosing what I return to, what I notice, what I let fill my mind.
And then, instead of waiting for the feeling of joy, I start with small actions that tend to make room for it:
sitting in a hammock or on a swing and letting myself slow down
walking barefoot in the grass and noticing what’s actually around me
doing a simple creative prompt without trying to make it good
going on a nature scavenger hunt
stopping to play with an animal instead of rushing past
bringing a small, spontaneous gift to someone
meeting a life-giving friend for coffee and staying present
putting on music I love and actually listening
dancing in my kitchen in a completely unpolished way
making something that could honestly be called “ugly art” and letting that be enough
None of these guarantee joy. That’s not the point. But they do create space for it.
I’m also learning that joy isn’t something I can force. It’s something that grows the more I take time to notice. My role is to pay attention to what I’m participating in, and to make room for the kinds of things where joy tends to show up.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot the past few days and there is more to say. But for now, this is what I’m holding onto: I can’t force joy to appear but I can make space for it. And more often than I expect, when I do, I find that it was already closer than I thought.
Draw Near: Creative Retreats for Being Present with God
I’m excited to share something new I’ve been working on…
Draw Near Retreats are a series of guided, creative retreats designed to help you slow down and practice being present with God in a simple, accessible way.
At its core, the Christian life isn’t just about learning more or doing more; it’s about being with God. But in everyday life, that can be hard to actually experience. We’re busy, distracted, and often unsure how to slow down in a meaningful way.
These retreats are a way to make space for that.
A contemplative play approach
Draw Near Retreats are rooted in what I call contemplative play, simple, creative practices that help us pay attention to God with openness and curiosity rather than pressure or performance.
Instead of trying to “get it right,” you’re invited to notice, reflect, and receive. Creative practices like drawing, coloring, or simple mark-making become a way to quiet the noise and become more aware of God’s presence.
This isn’t about making something impressive or being artistic. It’s about engaging your attention, your senses, and your imagination as part of your life with God.
What happens at a retreat
Each retreat follows a consistent, gentle structure:
A short story or reflection to begin
Wondering questions to help you reflect
A guided creative activity (with simple materials)
Quiet space to notice and reflect
Optional sharing
A simple closing
It’s not a class or a workshop, it’s structured enough to guide you, but spacious enough to meet you where you are.
Upcoming Retreat (Join Us!)
Spring / Eastertide Retreat
Saturday, May 9
1:00–3:00pm
In person (Trumbull, CT)
If you’ve been wanting a way to slow down and reconnect with God, this is a great place to start. You don’t need any experience with art or spiritual direction, just come as you are.
Who this is for
These retreats are open to adults at any stage of faith, whether you feel grounded, curious, or somewhere in between. You’re welcome to come with whatever you’re carrying, stress, questions, joy, or simply a desire for a different pace.
You don’t need special supplies. Just bring yourself, and I’ll guide the rest.
(If there’s interest, I’m also happy to offer future sessions for older kids.)
Looking ahead
Summer (Ordinary Time): 3 online retreats (dates coming soon)
Fall (Ordinary Time): 1 in-person Saturday retreat (Sept/Oct)
Advent: At-home retreats with simple guided prompts
Lent: 4-session in-person series (Feb/March)
More details will be shared as each retreat approaches. If this sounds like something you’ve been needing, I’d love for you to join us on May 9.
Creative Prompt: Color a Garden
I wonder what is growing in your life right now?
Growth doesn’t usually happen all at once.
It’s slow and quiet and often hidden. Sometimes we don’t even notice it until something small begins to bloom. Today’s practice is an invitation to notice what might be growing in your life, not by analyzing it, but by gently creating space to see it.
The prompt is simple: Color a garden (or color one in, using this coloring page). You know how to draw simple flowers and leaves and that’s all you need to do. There’s no need to make it realistic. As you work, hold this gentle wondering: What is growing in my life right now?
Watercolor Option
Lightly sketch your garden, or begin directly with paint.
Use soft washes and layered colors to build your garden slowly.
Let some areas stay light or unfinished, not everything needs to be in full bloom.
Allow colors to overlap and grow into one another.
Pause as you go. Notice what emerges.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what feels like it’s just beginning?
I wonder what has been growing quietly, without much attention?
I wonder if anything needs more space, time, or care?
I wonder what feels fully alive right now?
I wonder how it feels to notice growth without trying to force it?
Let the questions stay soft. You don’t need to figure anything out.
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to:
Draw or color a garden, any kind they like.
Fill it with plants, flowers, bugs, or anything they imagine growing.
You can wonder together:
What is growing in your garden?
Is anything still small or just starting?
What helps things grow?
Let their answers be simple and imaginative.
A Closing Invitation
When you’re finished, sit with your garden for a moment.
Notice:
What draws your eye?
What feels alive?
What feels like it’s still waiting?
You might carry this wondering with you:
I wonder where Jesus is present in the slow growth of my life?
Contemplative Play Is Part of Our Christian Calling
It can feel a little strange to talk about play in the context of our faith, especially when most of us have been formed to think of prayer, Scripture, service, and obedience as the core of our spiritual lives, while anything that looks like play can seem optional at best. Or, at worst, like a distraction from what really matters.
But I think perhaps we’ve drawn that line in the wrong place.
Because from the very beginning in Genesis 1, we are not introduced as people whose primary purpose is to produce or perform, but as image-bearers placed in a world that God repeatedly calls good, invited to live within it with attentiveness, care, and, yes, a kind of enjoyment that reflects His own delight.
And when Jesus invites us to “abide” in John 15, he isn’t adding another spiritual task to our list so much as describing the kind of relationship we are meant to live inside. A life of remaining, of staying connected, of being with Him rather than constantly doing for Him.
This is where contemplative play begins to feel less like an extra practice and more like a natural expression of that kind of life.
Because when we slow down enough to notice what’s in front of us, when we engage with simple materials or creative prompts without pressure to produce something impressive, and when we allow ourselves to be present to the moment instead of managing or measuring it, we are quietly practicing the very thing Jesus invites us into: a life of being with God.
In that sense, contemplative play isn’t separate from obedience, though it may not look like the kind of obedience we’re used to measuring; it’s a way of responding to God’s invitation to remain, to pay attention, and to receive, which are all threads that run deeply through Scripture but are easy to overlook in a life that is constantly oriented toward output.
Even Jesus’ words in Matthew 18 about becoming like children begin to take on a different weight here, because he is not calling us toward immaturity, but toward a posture of openness, trust, curiosity, and presence, qualities that come quite naturally in play, and that contemplative practices can gently help us recover.
So while I wouldn’t call contemplative play a “duty” in the sense of something we are required to perform for God, I do think it belongs much closer to the center of our lives than we often assume, because it forms in us the kind of attentiveness and receptivity that make a life with God possible in the first place.
It becomes, in its own quiet way, an act of worship, not because we are trying to make it one, but because delight, attention, and presence are already fitting responses to a God who is always with us.
And maybe most freeing of all is this: even when we are not consciously thinking about God every moment, even when what we are doing feels simple or ordinary or unremarkable, something real is still happening beneath the surface, as we learn, slowly and gently, how to live as people who are with Him.
How do you create+play? Interview with Walter W.
Poetry is often thought of as something polished or public, something we share once it’s fully formed. But for many, it begins much more quietly than that. It begins as a way of noticing, of processing, of speaking when words feel too heavy or too small.
In this interview, I heard from someone whose relationship with poetry has moved through seasons, from private expression, to silence, and back again into a form of creative language that feels deeply connected to presence, beauty, and God’s nearness. What emerged is a picture of creativity not as performance, but as communion, a way of seeing more clearly and listening more deeply.
His reflections invite us to consider that creativity is not only about what we produce, but about how it shapes our attention, our awareness, and our willingness to be present to what is already here.
What first drew you to poetry and what keeps you coming back to it now?
I started writing poetry in college as a way of expressing myself. My home was one in which the less you said out loud, the better, and I was not a reader or a writer. But college, the freedom to do things, and the expectation to talk, both began to open me and terrify me. Poetry was my way of talking without opening my mouth, which was my preferred way of communicating. But it was also a dark time for me, so my poetry was dark, evil, and suicidal. But it was a way of releasing venom without doing harm.
In my 30’s I destroyed all my poetry and gave up writing. I was slowly becoming a Christian and felt my poetry was too dark and I wasn’t sure I could write. I also stopped drugs and drinking, so my life was going through massive change which kept me quite busy. But the chaos was very unsettling and though AA and therapy was helpful, I was still to afraid to let too much of my real self out, so I returned, first to journaling and then to poetry. At this point it was all strictly personal and only for myself.
It was fairly recently that I realized that I was a poet, not because I’ve published anything, which I haven’t, but because it’s become obvious that that’s the way I communicate most comfortably, it’s what I enjoy doing, and I often even think and take notes in verse. It’s some of the essence of who I am.
What happens in you when you’re writing? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
I echo what Eric Liddell said, when I write poetry, I feel God’s pleasure. I have joy and peace. Perhaps for me it’s like speaking in tongues, praying in the language God gave me.
You sometimes rap your poems for others. What type of connection does that bring, if any?
I also love to sing and I think that’s also one of God’s languages. I love the image in one of the Narnia books where Aslan is singing creation into being, I can definitely imagine God doing that. The ancient peoples sang, the ancient Jews wrote songs called psalms, Christians have always written hymns, so singing is built into us.
It is not too far a jump from Gregorian chant or Catholic priests “singing” the liturgy as they did when I was growing up (and some still do, the priest at St. Brigid’s did last month), or Jewish cantors, to see rap as a more culturally up-to-date way of expression. There are Christian rappers and hip-hop singers, modern day psalmists if you will, that express Christianity in a way that non-believers might listen to.
Has poetry ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
Always. I think that’s what poetry does. I don’t think I can write poetry without “seeing” things in greater detail than just in passing.
If you can imagine Jesus sitting with you while you write, what do you think he is doing/saying/thinking?
I think sometimes He gives me a word that I can’t quite find. I really thinks He enjoys watching me enjoy myself. That of course is not just me. Jesus loves to sit and watch each of His brothers and sisters peacefully enjoying themselves. As you know, it saddens Him to waste or bury our talents. And talents I think has more to do with enjoyment than other people paying to watch.
What would you say to someone who wishes they could create like that, but doesn’t know where to start?
Just start. If you have ideas or think in pictures, sit down and write. If you enjoy the formation of words and sentences and paragraphs, sit down and write them down. Write because it pleases God, not to please others. You may end up pleasing others as well but, I think, it’s between you and God. Poetry becomes poetry in a receptive ear and heart. In the English language anyway, ear is the center of heart, because an open heart hears another’s heart.
Creative and generous God, thank you for planting your creativity in us, so that when we create we can feel closer to you and your delight in us. Bless Walter, that whenever he puts pen to paper, he would find the words to express whatever is going on inside. And in those moments when he can’t even find the words, that he would find rest and comfort even in the trying. Help him to feel your delight and merriment in him and may this heart language of Walter’s always be a source of joy and peace.
You can read some of Walter’s poetry on Substack.