Creative Prompt: Write One Word with Your Non-Dominant Hand
A practice for loosening perfectionism and making space for wonder
Most of us were taught, early on, how to hold a pencil correctly, write neatly, and color inside the lines. Over time, that training can quietly turn into something heavier: the belief that our work, and sometimes we ourselves, need to look a certain way to be acceptable.
Today’s creative practice invites us to lay that down, just for a few minutes.
Instead of striving for beauty or clarity, we’ll practice receiving.
Instead of control, we’ll practice attention.
Instead of perfection, we’ll practice wonder.
Choose a single, gentle word. Something simple. Something kind.
Some ideas:
rest
light
here
beloved
enough
peace
home
Using your non-dominant hand, write that word slowly on the page, letting it be imperfect. Resist the urge to fix it! When the word is written, add color around the word, not inside it. Let the word remain as it is.
Watercolor Option
Lightly write your chosen word with your non-dominant hand using pencil or pen.
Take watercolor and add soft washes around the letters.
You can let color pool near some letters and fade away from others.
You can use one color or many.
Let the paint respond to the word rather than illustrate it.
When you’re finished, pause before adding anything else. Notice what’s already there.
This is not about making the word pretty; it’s about letting it be.
Colored Pencil or Crayon Option
Write the word with your non-dominant hand, or use this coloring page and the word “beloved”.
Choose one or two colors.
Color the space around the word using light pressure.
If you notice yourself wanting to “clean it up,” slow down instead.
The uneven lines and imperfect letters are part of the practice.
Wondering Questions
You might hold one or two of these gently as you work or return to them afterward.
I wonder how it feels to write without trying to get it right?
I wonder what this word needs from me today?
I wonder if this word feels different when it’s imperfect?
I wonder what happens when I don’t correct myself?
There are no right answers. Let the questions stay open.
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to:
Pick a word they like (or help them choose one).
Write it with their “other hand” or let them guide your non-dominant hand as you write.
Color around it any way they want.
You can wonder together:
What do you notice about your letters?
Was it hard or funny to use your other hand?
What does this word make you think of?
Celebrate the wobbliness. Laugh if it feels silly. This is part of the gift.
Why This Practice Matters
Using our non-dominant hand interrupts our habits of control and slows us down. It quiets the inner critic that says, This should look better than it does. In that interruption, something else becomes possible.
Wonder. Gentleness. A posture of receiving rather than proving.
Like entering the kingdom as a child, not because we’ve mastered something, but because we’re willing to be small, open, and attentive.
A Closing Invitation
You might place your finished page somewhere you’ll see it later. Not as a reminder of what you should do, but as a witness to what happens when you let go. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is stop trying to make things right and simply allow ourselves to be here.
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.
Showing Up Without Knowing: A Spiritual Discipline of Wonder
I keep asking the same question: how do you create and play?
This is not a soft question or one I just ask for fun. I ask it because I want us all to foster spaces of creating and playing. These habits shift our posture from certainty to wonder and help us approach God that way, too.
Wonder is not the absence of faith; it is a way of practicing it. It loosens our grip on mastery and polish, releases the need to be right, and allows us to stay open to God, to ourselves, and to what is still becoming.
Practices like creating, playing, and simply being with God in silence are profoundly formative. They teach us to come with curiosity instead of control, to listen more than we explain, and to trust that God meets us not only in clarity but also in beginnings, questions, and unfinished places.
Jesus pointed to a childlike posture not because children understand more, but because they receive more. They enter without needing certainty first. They engage before they comprehend.
Yesterday, in my spiritual direction group, we spent a long time in silence (a gift in itself) before I shared. They listened, cried, and prayed with me. When we ran out of time, I felt a pang of panic: I was the only one who got to share, and I wanted to repay them somehow. But they gently reminded me that perhaps God was inviting me to simply receive that day, from Him and from a safe, trustworthy group of friends.
Wonder restores that posture toward God in us. Intellectual knowledge and theology certainly have their place. I am deeply grateful for my years of studying Scripture through Christian education; I don’t think I would discern God’s voice as I do without it. Yet we are often tempted to approach God with certainty because of all our knowledge: answers already formed, conclusions already drawn, or outcomes already imagined. Certainty feels faithful. It feels responsible. But certainty can quietly turn into control, and control leaves very little room for God to move.
Wonder creates room.
As a spiritual discipline, wonder looks like creating without knowing the outcome, praying without demanding answers, and trusting God enough to remain open. It is choosing presence over polish, receptivity over mastery, and faith over control.
In a world that rewards certainty, wonder becomes a quiet act of trust, and practices like creating and playing help us cultivate it, shaping our hearts to stay open and receptive to God in all moments.
How do you create + play? Interview with Adiel
So often, we think of creativity as something we produce, like a finished piece, a result, or something to show. But what if creativity is just as much about how we pay attention? How we notice beauty, feel freedom, and make space to be fully present?
In this interview, I spoke with an artist whose painting practice began as a way to express himself and has grown into something much deeper. Through paint, texture, color, and even the joyful interruptions of his children, he has found a rhythm of creating that holds peace, connection, and faith, sometimes without many words at all.
His reflections are a reminder that creating doesn’t have to be perfect or polished to be meaningful. It can be messy, embodied, shared, and holy in the quietest ways. This conversation is an invitation to linger, to notice, and to trust that simply showing up to create is enough.
What first drew you to painting and what keeps you coming back to it now?
It’s hard to say just one thing that draws me to painting. I started painting, as far as I can remember, when I was 10 years old. At first, it was the need to express myself in a different way. As I grew older, I began noticing simple but beautiful things. Painting is like an outlet for me to feel freedom and peace; it helps me highlight the beauty I find in the simple things around me.
What happens in you when you’re painting? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
When I paint, my mind just flies. I feel light, and I can clearly see the picture my hands are creating, even though it’s not finished. The colors I use, the textures, the smell in my studio, and the giggles of my daughters—who often distract me—are all part of the process. Those moments are good, because I come back with fresh ideas.
You sometimes paint with your little girls. What do you think happens when people create things side by side?
I think this is one of my favorite things to do as an artist: sharing my tools and knowledge with little ones. Art is so important for young people. Creating with my daughters is chaotic and, at the same time, beautiful. They see things that I don’t see, mix colors that make no sense, and draw things that feel out of this world. When we are creating, we are together not only physically but also spiritually—if that makes sense. We don’t talk much; we just get lost in the midst of colors, splashes of paint, and more.
Has painting ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
As an artist, sometimes it’s hard to slow down—we are always thinking about the next project and what else we can paint or build. Painting does help you slow down when you allow it to. I use the time when I’m alone in my studio to connect with my faith and talk to God about how He wants me to use my talents. I ask for guidance, or sometimes I simply thank Him.
If you can imagine Jesus sitting beside you while you paint, what do you think he is doing/saying/thinking?
This is a beautiful picture. After I finished reading this question, I immediately pictured this scene: God beside me, looking at me with loving eyes, observing—not saying anything, just being—and that is enough for me.
What would you say to someone who wishes they could create like that, but doesn’t know where to start?
Art is not perfect—it’s messy, and most importantly, it’s for you. It’s about how it makes you feel. So if you have the thought or curiosity to draw, paint, or simply create something, please go for it. I started painting with charcoal because it was inexpensive and all my parents could afford. Hopefully this motivates you to create and inspire others.
Thank you again, Adiel, for sharing your painting and wisdom with us!
I am hoping to continue with this series and send each person off with a blessing of their hobby. So Adiel, here is my prayer for you:
Creative and beautiful 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 the holy work of painting for Adiel. Help him to continually feel your pleasure as he joins you in creating beauty. Thank you for his eyes that see beauty in the world, and the way he helps us see it, too. Bless the time he spends painting with his daughters, and may it instill in them a love of you, as they feel your delight, too. And may your love and peace surround Adiel and his family with every brushstroke of paint.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 7: Stillness in a Busy Place
“Catch a moment of stillness in a busy setting. Pause and hold the presence of peace.”
Most of us assume that stillness only happens when everything else stops. But real life doesn’t usually work that way.
More often, our days are full of voices, movement, responsibility, and pressure. And yet, even there, moments of stillness appear if we’re willing to notice them.
Stillness doesn’t always mean silence. Sometimes it means presence.
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
Practicing the presence means paying attention to where God already is rather than waiting for ideal conditions. It’s learning to notice God in the middle of ordinary life, even when things feel busy or unsettled. Especially then.
Peace, in this sense, isn’t something we manufacture. It’s something we recognize.
Try This
Today, notice a moment of stillness in the middle of a busy place. It might be brief. It might feel almost insignificant. That’s okay.
When you find it, pause. Take one slow breath. Let yourself be there without fixing, solving, or rushing on.
If you’d like, take a photo, not to capture perfection, but to help you remember that peace can exist alongside movement and noise.
You might ask yourself:
Where did I notice stillness today?
What did it feel like in my body?
How might God be meeting me in this moment?
You don’t have to escape your life to find God’s presence. Sometimes, all that’s needed is a pause right in the middle of it.
Making Space: Hospitality, Presence, and Spiritual Direction
Hospitality in Scripture is fundamentally about making space: in our homes, around our tables, in our hearts, our schedules, and our communities. We see this again and again in the Bible. Abraham welcomes strangers with open hands and an open tent. Martha opens her home to Jesus. And Jesus Himself invites the weary and burdened to come and rest.
Hospitality, at its core, is not about impressing or performing. It is about presence.
When we have space, both inner and outer, we are actually more available to love. But when we are hurried, stressed, or overscheduled, we tend to miss the needs around us. Not because we don’t care, but because we are stretched too thin. Our attention is divided. Our energy is spent. Our hearts are crowded.
This is where margin matters.
Margin creates capacity. Capacity to notice, pause, respond, and be present.
Jesus modeled this way of living. He regularly stepped away to pray, to rest, to be alone with the Father. Those quiet spaces were not a retreat from love, but the very thing that made love possible. Because He made space, Jesus could move with compassion when the crowds showed up, when someone tugged at His robe, when a friend needed healing.
This is also the heart of spiritual direction.
Spiritual direction is not about fixing your life or adding more spiritual tasks to your to-do list. It is a practice of making space to notice where God is already present and at work, space to listen to your own life with gentleness, space to tend your relationship with God without hurry or pressure.
In spiritual direction, you are received just as you are. Your questions, longings, exhaustion, and hopes are all welcome. Together, we create a small pocket of holy space where your heart can stay soft, attentive, and open to love.
So making space is really an act of hospitality. Not in a productivity sense (You must clear your schedule so you can do more!) but in a deeply spiritual sense: I make space in my life so love has somewhere to land.
It’s not the only expression of hospitality, but it is a real and important one, especially in a world where so many of us are overwhelmed and overcommitted. And sometimes, making space is something we don’t have to do alone.
Making Space as Holy Hospitality
So often, when we talk about “hospitality,” we imagine setting a table, opening our homes, or planning something special. But lately I’ve been wondering if the deepest form of hospitality starts long before any of that, long before a meal is cooked or an invitation is sent.
Maybe the truest hospitality begins with making space.
Because the truth is: most of us are doing so many things we don’t actually need to be doing. We rush from one commitment to the next, carrying invisible to-do lists in our minds, tending tasks that no one asked us to carry. And without realizing it, we end up with lives so full that there’s no room left for God, for others, or even for our own souls.
But when we gently begin to release what is unnecessary something beautiful happens. We discover that making space is hospitality.
It is the quiet, intentional choice to create room for God to speak, room for rest to restore us, room for someone else’s need to enter our life without knocking everything over.
When we have margin, we can actually respond to others with joy instead of resentment. We can pause and listen instead of rushing past. We can notice the child who seems “off” today. We can bring a meal, offer a ride, pray with a friend, or sit with someone who is grieving. We can say “yes” at the moments when our “yes” might genuinely make a difference.
And maybe this is what Jesus meant when He said, “Come to Me… and I will give you rest.” His invitation is not to do more, but to open more space to receive His rest so we can extend it to others.
Making space is not laziness. It’s not quitting. It’s not neglect. Making space can be holy hospitality, an act of love that begins with making space for God in the heart and spills out into the world.
So as you move through this week, maybe wonder:
What is one small thing I can release?
Where might God be inviting me to make room?
How could this little bit of margin become a gift for someone else?
And when you do make space, trust that God will fill it with His presence and His purposes. Always.
Creative Prompt: Paint a Candle
There’s something powerful about painting around the light instead of painting the light itself. This simple practice helps you remember that some things are best shown by making space: rest, presence, God’s nearness, hope.
Today, you’ll paint a candle but the flame stays unpainted. Let the blank space shine.
Step-by-Step (Watercolor)
Start with a light sketch of a candle: a simple rectangle for the candle and a small teardrop shape for the flame.
Do not paint the flame. Leave it completely white, untouched paper.
Paint the candle body in soft, warm colors. Let the paint be loose, imperfect, maybe dripping a little like wax.
Around the flame, add gentle washes of color that grow lighter and lighter as they reach toward the flame.
Imagine the flame pushing the color outward.
Let the white space do the work.
Add optional details once the paint dries (a wick, shadows, edges) or leave it simple and quiet.
This practice becomes a reminder that the most luminous things in our lives often come from the spaces we keep open.
Colored Pencil/Crayon Option
Draw a candle and flame, leaving the flame uncolored, or use this coloring page.
Color the candle in your favorite warm tones.
Around the flame, press lightly with your pencil or crayon.
The closer you get to the flame, the lighter your pressure.
The farther away, the deeper and richer the color.
If you want, outline the flame very gently with a soft yellow pencil, but keep the inside white.
Even with crayons, the uncolored flame becomes the brightest part of the page.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what the unpainted flame makes you think of?
I wonder if there is a space of light in your life right now?
I wonder what the blank space invites you to notice or remember?
I wonder how it feels to not fill something in?
Kid-Friendly Version
Draw or paint a candle: tall, short, silly, colorful, whatever you want but don’t color the flame.
Leave it white, as if the paper itself is glowing.
Then ask:
What do you think the light is for?
What makes you feel bright inside?
Who brings light into your world?
You can even draw little things around the candle that your light helps or warms, like tiny creatures, stars, or cozy objects.
Closing Thought
Leaving the flame unpainted becomes its own kind of prayer, an open space for God to shine, a reminder that not all light is ours to create.
Sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is simply make room for it.
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.
Small Ways I’m Making Space Right Now
I’ve been struggling to make space this month. Ironically, even to write about making space. So I finally decided to take my own advice and remember that creating room for God and my own well-being doesn’t have to be big or impressive; it just has to be a priority. Here are a few small, grounding ways I’ve been practicing “making space” in this very full season:
• Daily coloring pages. I committed to coloring one tiny page a day. It takes only a few minutes, but it feels fun, soothing, and doable. I use just one or two colors to keep it simple, and I don’t worry about staying in the lines. It’s a pocket of creativity I actually look forward to.
• Spiritual direction. I made an appointment with my spiritual director. Spiritual direction offers so many gifts (which I know I’ve talked about before!), but one of the biggest is the simple commitment of showing up for someone else. I’m far more likely to honor a space I’ve set aside with another person than one I promise only to myself.
• Going to the gym. I’m an incredibly inward person with a rich inner world, so tending to my body has never come naturally. But we are embodied people, and moving my body matters. I recently joined a gym so I could bring my daughter a few times a week. Even when I don’t feel like going, I still go for her; and it turns out it clears my mind and gives me energy, too.
• Baking bread. This one is new for me. After a year and a half of trying to get a sourdough starter going, I finally have a thriving one… and now I’m a little obsessed. Sourdough forces me to slow down. Each loaf takes about 24 hours, and I’m making around three a week. With every stretch and fold, I find myself praying for whoever will eat that loaf (I give many of them away). It feels beautifully countercultural to move at the pace of fermentation. Maybe that’s why sourdough has become so popular: we’re hungry for slowness and we long for spaciousness. Sourdough demands both.
If you’re finding it hard to make space right now, space for God, for rest, for listening, I’d be honored to come alongside you. Spiritual direction can offer a gentle, structured place to breathe and pay attention. If you need help creating that space, you can always make an appointment with me.
An Examen for the Holiday Season
Take a deep breath. Let your body be still.
Notice the way your breath settles you, drawing you into the present moment.
What gratitudes are stirring in you this holiday season?
Who or what makes you smile right now?
What small joys, traditions, or moments do you wish you had more time for?
Think over previous holiday seasons.
What is the predominant feeling you remember? Joy, stress, longing, warmth, something in between?
How does recalling that feeling sit with you now?
Is there anything you wish you could release, or something you wish you could do differently this time around?
Where or when has God met you during past holiday seasons?
Can you remember moments when God felt close, surprising, comforting, or steady?
Has there been a time when God felt absent or far away? Gently lift those moments to God, trusting that they are held.
Now look forward to the holiday season ahead.
Hold all that you’ve noticed, your gratitude, your longings, your memories, and your prayers, and carry them with you as you step toward what is to come, open to the ways God might meet you again.
Sacred Story Time: The Most Boring Book Ever
When I saw Brandon Sanderson had a picture book out, I had to buy it. I love his books, usually of the epic fantasy kind, so I was especially curious what The Most Boring Book Ever would be about!
It turns out the title doesn’t lie. If it weren’t for the illustrations, this really would be the most boring book ever… but the artwork brings everything to life. Page by page, the pictures reveal something important about imagination and the whole worlds we can create in our minds (something Brandon Sanderson is, of course, so good at!). It’s a playful reminder that sometimes the story isn’t handed to us; sometimes we’re invited to make it ourselves.
Noticing Prompt:
How did you feel when you realized there wasn’t much narration in this book? What did the simplicity encourage you to do with it? Did you find yourself lingering on each page longer—or moving through more quickly?
Play Prompt:
Pick one of the scenes in the book and describe it out loud to someone else (maybe a child). You can make it funny, adventurous, or sweet. Try all three with the same page! Then invite the child to create their own version.
Imagination Prompt:
Sit in a chair and let yourself imagine for a few minutes. Where do your thoughts naturally take you? What might that say about what’s on your heart? Then try choosing ahead of time where the “story” should go. Are you able to imagine yourself there? Is that harder or easier? Which way of imagining do you prefer?
Prayer:
Imaginative God, thank you for the gift of imagination. Help us use it wisely and for good, and not to let our thoughts wander without restraint. May we always keep our eyes on you. Amen.
A “Hidden Prayer” Collage: A Creative Spiritual Direction Practice
This past week, I was trying to think of a creative activity for my spiritual direction group. I wanted something that still felt like spiritual direction, with shared silence and listening to God together, while also giving us a way to use our hands. What we ended up doing was such a gentle, beautiful experience that I thought I’d share the process here. You can do this alone or with a group.
This practice allows you to express something true in writing, “release” it into God’s hands by layering over it, and then let something new and beautiful emerge. It holds depth, gentleness, and a bit of contemplative mystery.
Materials Needed
Mixed media or watercolor paper
Pen, pencil, or marker
Tissue paper
Other collage elements (book pages, old music sheets, pretty napkins, wrapping paper, etc.)
1–2 of the following: stickers, metallic markers, gold leaf, washi tape, stamps
Step 1: Begin in Silence and Start Journaling
Give each person a small piece of heavy mixed-media or watercolor paper. Invite them to settle into silence for a moment, and then begin journaling directly on the page whenever they’re ready.
You can offer a few prompts:
What is stirring in me?
Where am I feeling invited?
What am I resisting?
What do I long for from God?
What am I tired of carrying?
Let them know that this writing will be covered, so they can freely write what is real and unedited. This becomes their “hidden prayer” layer.
Step 2: Scripture Reading: 2 Corinthians 4:6–7, 16–18 (NRSV)
“For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’
who has shone in our hearts
to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God
in the face of Jesus Christ.But we have this treasure in clay jars,
so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God
and does not come from us…Even though our outer nature is wasting away,
our inner nature is being renewed day by day…Because we look not at what can be seen
but at what cannot be seen;
for what can be seen is temporary,
but what cannot be seen is eternal.”
Paul reminds us that the most precious things God is doing in us are often unseen, like treasure held in simple clay jars. As we begin adding layers to this page, we are not erasing our words and we are not hiding them from God. We are honoring them, entrusting them to His care. We are letting God hold what is true and allowing Him to continue His gentle, quiet work beneath the surface.
Step 3: Begin Layering
When you’re ready, begin tearing and placing your pieces of tissue paper and collage elements over the journaling. There is no right or wrong way to do this. As you layer, imagine God holding everything underneath, healing, redeeming, comforting, and tending to what you wrote. Let your hands move without overthinking. Choose colors and shapes that feel right for the moment.
Step 4: Add a Symbol of Blessing
Once the layers are dry, add one small element of blessing on top.
This could be:
a metallic mark
a sticker or stamp
a bit of gold leaf
a single brushstroke
a small shape or symbol
Let this represent what God will do, is doing, and has already done.
Step 5: Reflection
Take a moment to look at your finished piece. Gently notice what rises in you.
You might ask:
What surprised me while I was creating?
What did the process feel like in my body?
What part of my finished piece draws me the most? Why?
What might God be whispering through the layers?
Did anything shift inside me as the layers were added?
Hold gratitude for whatever God stirred in you today.
The Quiet Surprise of Godly Play
This year I’m trying something new in Sunday school. Every three weeks or so, I gather all the kids, ages 5 through 6th grade, for a Godly Play story. Their attention is rapt, and honestly, I don’t entirely know why. It’s not exciting. It’s not new. It’s quiet and slow and simple.
But I’m starting to realize that might be exactly why it works.
Kids live in a world full of noise, hurry, and constant stimulation. The calm, spacious rhythm of Godly Play feels different to them. The slow unfolding of the story gives their minds room to breathe. The quiet voice, the careful movements, the gentle wondering questions all of it creates space for mystery, which seems to pull them in more than any “exciting” activity ever could.
Kids are naturally contemplative. When a story invites them to wonder instead of rushing them along, they lean in. Every time it surprises me. And every time, it reminds me that children are often drawn to quiet holiness far more than we expect.
But my favorite part comes next.
After the story, I get to tell the kids that art can be a kind of prayer. When we move into craft time, I know they’re thinking about glue sticks and markers and making something fun, not prayer. And that’s okay! Because maybe someday, when they need it, they’ll remember that being with God doesn’t have to fit inside a narrow box. Prayer can look like drawing, building, coloring, imagining, and taking joy in creating. It can be playful, messy, and full of wonder.
This is something I’m still learning as an adult. Even today, as I led my spiritual direction group through a creative practice, I was surprised again when God met me right there, in the paper and the color and the quiet. He invited me to let myself be drawn into Him, to find safety in Him, to play with Him, and to rest in Him.
So I try to tell that to the kids, even though our art time often dissolves into happy chaos. I’m hoping I’m planting a theology of prayer they probably do not understand yet but will carry with them. Many adults discover later in life that prayer isn’t limited to kneeling and speaking. How beautiful if children could grow up already knowing that truth.
Being with God can look like creating, playing, and making beautiful things. And maybe, in these small moments, we’re helping them discover that slow, quiet holiness for themselves.
How do you create + play? Interview with Julie
Oftentimes what we think of as “only a hobby” is really a gentle pathway to prayer. I’ve been so delighted by how often simple, hands-on making becomes a doorway into presence, wonder, and connection with God.
This month, I interviewed someone whose practice has quietly become all of those things. Through cross-stitch, she has discovered a rhythm that helps her slow down, notice beauty, remember her seasons, and connect with others in meaningful ways.
Her story is a reminder that creativity is sacred. Sometimes the slow, repetitive work of making something with your hands becomes a way of making space in your soul. I hope you enjoy and are encouraged.
What first drew you to cross-stitching — and what keeps you coming back to it now?
I learned to cross stitch when I was in high school. My cousin picked up the hobby, and I was drawn to her pieces. There was something peaceful about it, perhaps reminding me of times long ago. I recognized beauty in the labour of it - the hours of handwork it requires. So, she taught me. I stitched for a time, but life got busy and I lost interest.
Years later, I visited a friend in her home and noticed a gorgeous, cross-stitched piece on her wall. It sparked my interest again.
Today my stitching is different. Tastes/preferences change, of course, but I have also become much more creative with it. I love the variety of textures and colors. I've discovered beautiful hand-dyed linens and flosses that allow me to design or adapt projects. Also, some projects just make my heart happy. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. I have completed projects on occasion that left me sad to be finished. I just enjoyed working on them. I think that is what draws me back.
What happens in you when you’re stitching — what do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
Stitching is rhythmic, almost like breathing. It is comforting, calming and orderly, requiring only a bit of focus to count stitches and follow a pattern. It usually doesn't require too much brain power, allowing my mind to ponder other things alongside. They say that when we do repetitive tasks, we think more clearly. I believe this is true! Going for a walk can clear your head and so can stitching.
You sometimes stitch in community — what do you think happens when people make things side by side?
This is new for me within the last 18 months. We have a local cross stitch store that is always buzzing with ladies AND men (yes, men cross stitch too). It is a place of encouragement and conversation. Our particular group meets weekly to stitch, usually for 3 or 4 hours. We admire each other's WIPs (work-in-progress), inspire one another to expand our abilities, and mostly just chat about life. I find connection with people I have nothing else in common with except stitching, and we have a wonderful time!
The cross-stitch community is big. There are large stitching retreats in conference centers and ballrooms all over the US, Canada and Europe. Stitch-Con, one of the largest, sells out every year. These retreats feature designers who share their purposeful designs alongside stories of meaning. And of course, these retreats offer hours and hours of time to stitch with others.
Has cross-stitching ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
Absolutely! Whatever I am stitching sets a mood. When I stitched a "names of Christ" sampler, I pondered each name. When stitching the wisdom prayer, I was in prayer. When stitching a gift for someone, I am mindful of that person and grateful for that relationship. And of course, stiching flowers, bees, trees, birds etc. give me a sense of beauty that is all around us. It reminds me to notice.
It's interesting, my completed pieces are reminders of life's past seasons. One piece was calming to me when nervous on an airplane. There is a piece I worked on while at the hospital bedside of my father-in-law. The stitching was slow and lingering that day, stitching while he slept. I can probably tell you when I stitched most of my projects and can relate them to what was happening around me.
If you can imagine Jesus sitting beside you while you cross-stitch, what do you think he is doing/saying/thinking?
Is there anything better than sitting with Jesus and simply enjoying His presence? I imagine Him just being there, enjoying the moment with me. Nothing needs to be said because His presence is deeper than words. Mostly, I feel His pleasure, and I am assured of His love.
What would you say to someone who wishes they could create like that, but doesn’t know where to start?
One can learn a lot from Flosstube videos (on YouTube). There are many talented stitchers offering inspiration and instruction with a wide variety of design style. Be careful though - this can suck you in! I would suggest, if possible, finding a cross stitcher or a local needlework store that can offer instruction or tips. Start with something small on Aida 14-count fabric. Patterns can be ordered online and some are even offered free. Find one that makes your heart nsging. Hobby Lobby or Michaels have DMC floss, needles and hoops.
Most important is how you approach a project. While certainly there is a sense of accomplishment from finishing a piece, there is much joy in the process of creating. Linger in it!
Thank you again, Julie, for sharing your hobby and wisdom with us!
I am hoping to continue with this series and send each person off with a blessing of their hobby. So Julie, here is my prayer for you:
Creative God, thank you for planting your creativity in us, so that when we create, we join you in holy play. Bless the holy play of cross-stitching in Julie’s hands. May she feel your full delight in her, your precious daughter, as she echoes your creativity. May her cross-stitching community grow and bring you glory. And may your love and peace surround her, flow through her, and touch others who are with her, with every stitch she makes.
Creative Prompt: Restful Home
Sometimes it’s hard to recognize what feels restful until we slow down long enough to name it. This practice gives you a simple way to do just that. Begin by painting or drawing a house (or use this coloring page). Then fill the house with what brings rest to your body, your mind, your spirit. You can draw, color, paint, or cut shapes out of magazines; or you can just use words.
As you decorate your home, you might notice that rest looks different than you expected. It might look like space. It might look like warmth. It might even look like something playful.
Wondering Questions
I wonder what “rest” looks like for you today?
I wonder which part of your inner house needs rest the most?
I wonder if there’s anything you didn’t expect to fill the way you did?
I wonder where God is offering you rest, even quietly or in small ways?
Kid-Friendly Version
Draw or paint a house, any kind you like! Then fill it with things that help you feel calm and cozy:
a stuffed animal, a warm drink, a favorite book, the beach, a nap, a pet, a blanket, or even just your favorite color.
Your house can be silly or imaginative, like a treehouse, a castle, a mushroom house, as long as you fill it with things that help your body feel relaxed and happy.
When you're done, point to each thing and tell someone what makes it restful for you.
Closing Thought
Rest rarely arrives by accident. Often, we have to notice it, name it, or make space for it on purpose. This little painted house becomes a quiet reminder that rest is not earned, but received. And there is always room, somewhere inside your life, to build a habit of rest.
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.
Entering Contemplative Play
Contemplative play gives us a way to be fully present without the pressure to perform or produce. It slows us down enough to notice what is true, what is beautiful, and what is stirring inside us. In a world that prizes achievement and efficiency, contemplative play helps us recover wonder.
It’s not about following steps or achieving a result. It’s about showing up with openness and letting yourself notice, wonder, and be.
The ideas below are simply starting points, invitations into a slower rhythm. You might use one, combine a few, or let them spark something entirely your own. What matters most is not what you make, but how you attend to the moment.
Below are a few ways to enter contemplative play, alone or in community, with hands, heart, and imagination awake to God’s presence.
Ideas for Contemplative Play
Color slowly with crayons, markers, or watercolor. Don’t worry about staying in the lines.
Shape clay or playdough with your hands; see what forms naturally.
Go outside and collect a few interesting leaves, stones, or sticks. Arrange them in a small pattern.
Sit under a tree or near a window and watch what moves, whether it’s clouds, light, leaves, or shadows.
Take a slow walk, noticing what you see, hear, and feel as you move.
Light a candle and watch the flame for a minute or two.
Trace a spiral or simple shape in sand, salt, or rice with your finger.
Draw or paint what peace, love, or hope might look like to you.
Write a short thank-you note to God or to someone who showed you kindness.
Listen to gentle music and let your hands or body move with it.
Build something out of blocks, rocks, or Legos.
Close your eyes and take five deep breaths, noticing what you feel in your body.
Look closely at something small like a flower, a piece of fabric, or a shell and notice every detail.
Share something you made or noticed with someone else and listen to what they share.
Pour water slowly from one cup to another and listen to the sound it makes.
Lightly trace your hand on paper and fill it with small drawings or words of gratitude.
Look up at the sky for a full minute and notice how it changes.
Tear or cut paper pieces and glue them into a collage without planning the outcome.
Walk a simple path, spiral, or labyrinth, pausing at the center to take a deep breath before returning.
Stack stones or small objects, noticing when the balance feels right.
Blow bubbles and watch them drift and disappear.
Write a single word that feels important today and decorate around it with color or pattern.
Trace a heart shape on paper or in the air and imagine offering your love to God.
Sit quietly with your eyes closed and imagine light filling the room.
Draw or color together with someone, side by side, without talking.
Hold a smooth stone and think of one thing you’d like to release or let go.
Listen for distant sounds, like birds, wind, cars, or voices and notice how far away they are.
Watch a candle go out, following the smoke as it disappears.
End with a deep breath, thanking God for what you’ve noticed.
These may seem like simple or even silly examples, but that’s kind of the point. We spend so much of our lives producing and performing that we forget how to simply be. So take a little time to pause and play. Choose one small practice and see where it leads. Notice how you feel afterward. You might be surprised by the peace or joy that meets you there.
Making Space (Even when it feels impossible)
Sometimes making space feels impossible. It feels like a luxury, something only people with enough time, money, or resources can do. Something for later, when life slows down a bit.
But in God’s economy, resources are abundant. There is already enough. You are already enough, and you already have what you need to make space for yourself and for Him.
The truth is, the problem isn’t really about resources. It’s about priority. We aren’t used to prioritizing stillness or slowness, especially when it doesn’t feel “productive.” Making space doesn’t check anything off a list. It might not even feel like anything at first.
But it’s holy work.
And it doesn’t have to be dramatic or long or quiet or perfect. Making space might look like:
A few deep breaths before you rush into the next thing
A short prayer whispered while washing dishes
Doing something creative, just for the joy of it
Playing with intentionality
Meeting with a spiritual director
Unplugging for a few minutes or a few hours
Taking a retreat
Making space can be minutes. It can be days. What matters is that we’re intentionally being with God, not just doing things for Him.
The thing about making space, even a few minutes, is that it stretches time. It’s strange but true: time feels fuller, slower, more open. At first, it might feel boring. That’s okay. Keep showing up. Soon those quiet, unhurried minutes will become so precious that you’ll find yourself craving more and more of them.
Maybe that’s the gift: not that we make space once and for all, but that we keep learning how to make it again and again, right where we are.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 6: Something broken
“Show something that’s been mended: a torn page taped back together, a toy glued in place, a shirt with a patch or a few careful stitches.”
There’s something so ordinary and holy about fixing what’s broken. It’s a small picture of God’s heart. He doesn’t throw things away; He makes them whole again.
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
Practicing the presence means noticing God right here in the ordinary acts of love and attention. It’s remembering that God is not only present in our strength, but also in our small, tender restorations.
Brother Lawrence found God in the rhythm of daily work like washing dishes, cooking meals, doing what needed to be done with love.
For us, it might be sewing a button, fixing a toy, taping a page back in place.
Try This
Today, look for something that has been repaired. Maybe it’s something you’ve fixed with your own hands. Maybe it’s something that carries signs of love and care, a patched quilt, a scar, a relationship slowly being restored.
Take a photo of that mended place and notice how the repair doesn’t erase the past, it transforms it.
Then ask yourself:
What does restoration look like in my life today?
What has been lovingly repaired, even if it still shows the seams?
Where might God be inviting me to join Him in the quiet work of mending
Maybe you’re in the middle of it, still waiting to be healed, and that’s okay. Even the act of noticing the repair can be a kind of prayer.
You are allowed to take up space.
At the beginning of the month, we spend some time talking about making space. It feels like where we should start, because without making space for ourselves and God, there’s really nowhere for us to go (can’t really talk about making art or contemplative play or spiritual direction if you just won’t make space in your schedule!). But I started wondering if we need to go back even further. What if you don’t even believe you are allowed to take up space?
That question has been sitting with me all week.
Because before we make space for God, we have to remember that God already made space for us. He called us into being. He imagined us. He delights when we show up fully, with our quirks and questions and quiet longings.
Maybe the first act of making space is simply to believe this: you belong here. You’re allowed to take up space in your own life. You don’t have to earn it by being useful or creative or holy enough.
So if you need a place to start this month, start there. Take one deep breath and remember that you are here on purpose, loved and wanted by the One who made space for you before the beginning of time. Everything else can grow from that.