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.
Creative Lenten Practice, Session 4: Rejoicing Together
As we come together now during Eastertide, we turn toward joy. Not a forced or surface-level happiness, but a deeper kind of rejoicing, the kind that can hold everything that has come before it.
Supplies:
your previous project from session one OR watercolor paper
gold leaf, glue, and sealant (or gold acrylic marker)
paint brush
things to collage (old magazines work great for this one!)
Step 1: Prepare your body (5 minutes)
If you’re able, begin this practice with something simple and nourishing, a small snack, a warm drink, or even just a moment of settling in a comfortable space. This session carries a slightly different tone. There is still space for quiet, but also room for warmth, presence, and even gentle conversation if you are with others.
You might begin by reading these words from Jan Richardson slowly:
And the stone is rolled back
not so that we can see
where Jesus was,
but so that we can see
where he is not.
Not bound,
not contained,
not held
by death or despair.And so we are not bound,
not contained,
not held—
not by what we have been,
not by what we have done,
not by what has been done to us.The stone is rolled back
so that we might step
into the wide, unbounded
life of resurrection.
Sit with that for a moment.
Step 2: Reflect (5–10 minutes)
Read slowly:
Over these past weeks, you have been practicing letting go, releasing what feels heavy, trusting that you do not need to hold everything so tightly.
You have practiced rest, allowing space for grief, weariness, and all that feels unfinished. You have begun to notice new life, small, quiet signs of growth beneath the surface. Through it all, the invitation has not been to become someone new through effort, but to notice what God has already been doing within you.
Now we come to rejoicing.
Rejoicing does not mean everything is resolved or healed. It means we begin to recognize where life has been present all along. As the apostle Paul the Apostle writes, “Rejoice always… for the Lord is near.” Joy is not something we force or prove. It is something we begin to notice, because God is with us.
Step 3: Prepare Your Piece (10–15 minutes)
Bring back the piece you have been working on over the past sessions (or create a simple one if you’re starting here). Take a moment to look at it.
Notice:
the torn edges
the layered pieces
the places that feel unfinished
the places that feel alive
Step 4: Add Gold (15–20 minutes)
For this step, you’ll need:
gold leaf (or gold paper/paint as a substitute)
glue
a brush or your fingers
First, gently apply glue to parts of your piece. Let the glue sit until it becomes tacky or clear. Then carefully place the gold leaf over those areas. Gently press it down and brush away the excess.
As you do this, remember: you are not covering over what has been. You are honoring it.
Step 5: Words of Blessing (Optional, if with others)
If you are doing this practice with others, take a moment to offer and receive words and pictures from the old magazings.
Choose one person (for example, the person to your left) to quietly reflect on their presence and what you have witnessed in them. Peruse old magazines or other collage elements and offer a simple word or phrase as a blessing, something that names life, hope, or truth.
Then receive a word from someone else. Add those collage elements as the final layer of your piece.
If you are alone, you might instead ask:
What word might God be offering me?
Write that word and add it to your piece.
Step 6: Sit and Wonder (5–10 minutes)
Sit quietly with your finished piece.
You might reflect on:
How do I feel as I look at this now?
What was it like to add gold to these places?
What did it feel like to receive (or choose) a word of blessing?
What part of this process surprised me?
Let yourself notice without needing to explain.
Step 7: Closing Benediction
You might end with these words from John Chrysostom:
Let all partake of the feast of faith.
Let all receive the riches of goodness.Let no one mourn that they have fallen again and again,
for forgiveness has risen from the grave.Let no one fear death,
for the Savior’s death has set us free.Christ is risen, and life is set free.
Amen.
Practicing the Presence Prompt: Something tiny
“Photograph something tiny that’s growing.
Where is God in the small and slow-growing?”
Growth is easy to miss when it’s small: it could be a new leaf just starting to open, grass pushing up through the dirt, or a bud that hasn’t bloomed yet.
Nothing about it feels dramatic. There’s no big moment, no clear before-and-after. It’s quiet, gradual, and often hidden unless you’re paying attention.
Most of life feels this way.
We want change to be obvious and quick. We want to see progress, to know that something is happening. But so much of what matters grows slowly, over time, beneath the surface, without much to show for it at first.
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
Practicing the presence means learning to notice God in these kinds of moments.
Not just in big breakthroughs or clear answers, but in the quiet work that unfolds little by little.
It’s trusting that God is present in growth we can’t always measure.
Try This
Today, look for something small that’s growing.
It might be outside, a plant, a tree, a patch of grass. Or it might be something closer like a houseplant, a garden, even something you’ve been tending over time.
Pause and really look.
If you’d like, take a photo, not because it’s impressive, but because it’s easy to overlook.
Then ask yourself:
Where do I see small growth in my life right now?
What feels slow or unfinished?
How might God be at work in ways I can’t yet see?
Growth doesn’t have to be fast to be real.
Sometimes the most important things are the ones that take time, quietly, steadily, day by day.
And God is there in all of it.
make space for delight
As I was reflecting on all my “make space” posts and how they connect to everything else I write about, I wanted to condense it down to one thing.
Sometimes we might think that to be a “good Christian,” we must always choose the hardest path, that the path of least resistance is a trap, that the narrow gate must only lead to a narrow road. But what if, through the narrow gate of surrender, we actually find a wide-open space?
Making space is just that: spacious. Time with God can be doing anything. Not everything that’s easy is life-giving, but delight has a way of opening us to God, not pulling us away. Every creative prompt, every practicing presence prompt, every examen, every contemplative play idea, every create-and-play interview, these are all ways to help you notice God in the everyday, in what you already delight in doing.
What I hope you learn from me is that making space might look different than the narrow path you’ve grown to believe it to be. And one of the most spacious, surprising ways we make room for God is through delight.
I’ve been reading a book by Gregory Boyle called Forgive Everyone Everything. He works closely with inmates and former gang members, people whose lives have often been marked by violence, loss, and survival. Which is why what he says about delight feels so surprising. You might expect someone in his position to talk mostly about repentance, or discipline, or the cost of transformation. And he does take those things seriously. But instead, he keeps returning to something much softer, almost disarming.
Listen to what he says about delight:
“Isaiah has God say: ‘Be glad forever and rejoice in what I create…for I create my people to be a delight.’ God thinking we’d enjoy ourselves. Delighting is what occupies God, and God’s hope is that we join in. That God’s joy may be in us, and this joy may be complete. We just happen to be God’s joy. That takes some getting used to.”
Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to make space for delight. Maybe we don’t actually believe that’s what God wants from us. Or that we could possibly be what God takes delight in. That we could be… enough, worth lingering over, loving, or even dying for.
I notice how easily I measure my days by productivity, or energy levels, or a clean house. How quickly I reach for productivity instead of delight. Even in my time with God, I want it to “count.” But what if today, making space looks like letting yourself enjoy something… without needing to justify it?