Chapel Talk: Praying with our Imagination

This past week, I got to speak in chapel at a local Christian school—first with grades K–2 and then again with grades 3–5—and I decided to teach them about imaginative prayer. I told them that I didn’t learn how to do this until I was 40 (they gasped in horror!), but I actually think kids are much better at it than adults because they have such wonderful imaginations.

The same imagination that helps children enter a story or a game of pretend can also help them step into a Bible story and notice Jesus there.

At the end, we took it one small step further, and I said very quietly, “Now imagine Jesus noticing you. [pause] What do you think his face looks like when he sees you?”

The room was silent. The wiggling had stopped. In that moment, I could feel that they had fully entered in.

Then I asked, “Do you think he is smiling?”

With their eyes closed, they all nodded vigorously and said, “Yes!”

And I thought, Lord, help me to enter in just like that. To believe, with my whole heart, that you smile when you notice me in the crowd.

So here is what I told them, in case you’d like to try it at home.

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Sometimes people think prayer is only talking to God. And talking to God is definitely part of prayer! But prayer is actually three things.

Prayer is:

Talking to God,
Listening to God,
And being with God.

When we pray, we can do all three of those things. Sometimes we talk to God and tell him what we are thankful for or what we need. Sometimes we listen quietly. And sometimes we are just with God, knowing that he loves us.

Today I want to show you a way to pray that uses something God gave you that is very special: your imagination. Your imagination helps you picture things in your mind. When we read stories in the Bible, we can imagine being there in the story with Jesus.

Let’s try it together.

Imaginative Prayer

I’m going to read a short story about Jesus. While I read it, you can quietly imagine the story in your mind. You can close your eyes if you want, or just sit quietly. Imagine that you are there. You can be a character in the story or you can just be watching it happen from the side. As you are there, try to engage all your senses. What does it look like or smell like? How do you feel being there?

Read: Jesus Welcomes the Children

(Mark 10:13–16 or children’s Bible version*)

Now imagine the story again for just a moment and think about these questions quietly in your mind.

• Where are you in the story? Are you one of the children running to get to Jesus? Or are you one of the shyer ones waiting behind?

• Are you close to Jesus or farther away?

• What do you see around you?

Now this is the best part: imagine Jesus noticing you.

What do you think Jesus’ face looks like when he sees you?

What do you think it feels like to be welcomed by Jesus?

Now you can finish this kind of prayer by saying something to Jesus in your heart.

Closing

Prayer can be talking to God, listening to God, and being with God. And sometimes when we read Bible stories, we can imagine being there with Jesus and listening to Him in a new way.

Jesus, thank you that we can talk to you, listen to you, and be with you.
Thank you for welcoming us and loving us.
Help us notice you this week.
Amen.

*I used the story “A Wide and Wiggling Wall” from the Book of Belonging on page 219. This story worked perfectly, because they actually talk about children’s imaginations and include a few wondering questions.

Creative Lenten Practice, Session Two: Resting in the Middle

Lent is not only a season for releasing. It is also a season for telling the truth.

Sometimes what surfaces after we let go of things is not clarity or peace, but tiredness. Grief. Longing. The sense of being in the middle of something unfinished.

Scripture makes space for this. The prayers in the Book of Psalms are full of lament: faithful cries of “How long, O Lord?” spoken not in despair, but in trust that God is listening.

And Jesus Christ himself knew what it was to be weary. In the garden he told his friends, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow.” He asked them simply to stay with him.

Rest in Lent is not about fixing what hurts or escaping difficulty. It is about allowing ourselves to be seen and held exactly where we are.

This practice invites you to slow down, honor what feels weary, and practice receiving rather than controlling.

You can set aside about an hour, or shorten the practice if needed.

Supplies:

• your previous project from session one OR watercolor paper

• watercolor ink or liquid watercolor (or regular watercolor paint)

• water in a spray bottle

• a brush or dropper

• paper towels

Step 1: Prepare your body (5 minutes)

Make a cup of tea or another warm drink if you’d like. Sit somewhere comfortable and let yourself settle into silence.

You might read this poem by Jan Richardson slowly:

Let us agree for now
that we will not say
the breaking makes us stronger
or that it is better to have this pain
than to have done without this love.

Let us promise we will not tell ourselves
time will heal the wound,
when every day our waking opens it anew.

Perhaps for now it can be enough
to simply marvel at the mystery
of how a heart so broken
can go on beating, as if it were made for precisely this—
as if it knows the only cure for love is more of it,
as if it sees the heart’s sole remedy for breaking is to love still.

Sit quietly for a moment. Let yourself simply arrive.

Step 2: Reflect (5 minutes)

Read slowly:

Lent gives us permission to stop pretending that everything is fine.

The psalms remind us that lament can be faithful prayer.
Jesus reminds us that sorrow and weariness are not signs of failure.

Rest, in this season, is not about escape or resolution.

It is about allowing ourselves to be seen and held as we are.

Tonight we will not try to fix what hurts.
We will simply notice it and bring it gently into God’s presence.

Step 3: Journal (15 minutes)

Write freely in response to one or more of these questions:

• What feels tired, sad, or unfinished in me?

• Where do I feel weary in the long middle?

• What do I long for God to see?

Write slowly.

You do not need to explain or resolve anything.
Simply tell the truth.

Step 4: Rest With Ink (15–20 minutes)

Choose one color.

Place a drop of ink on the paper and watch what happens.

You might tilt the paper slightly and allow gravity to move the color.
You might spray a little water and let it spread.
You might blot gently with a paper towel and watch the pigment lift away.

Move slowly.

This is not about painting something.
It is about allowing the ink to move in its own way.

Sometimes you may guide it slightly.
Sometimes you may simply watch it spread.

As you work, remember:

You do not need to make anything happen.
God is already here.

Let the ink teach you how to rest.

Step 5: Sit and Wonder (5–10 minutes)

When you’re finished, sit quietly and look at what has emerged.

Stay close to the process rather than trying to interpret the result.

You might reflect on one of these questions:

• I wonder what it felt like to watch the ink move.

• I wonder what it was like not to control where the color went.

• I wonder what happened inside me when I slowed down.

• I wonder what it was like to let gravity and water do the work.

• I wonder where I noticed tension or release.

There is nothing you need to figure out.

Just notice.

Step 6: Close in Prayer

You might end with this prayer from Julian of Norwich:

Lord Jesus Christ,
in our sorrow you draw near to us.
In our weariness you hold us.
In our questions you remain faithful.

Help us to rest in your love tonight.
Help us to trust that nothing is wasted in your hands.

Keep us in your mercy,
surround us with your peace,
and remind us again that
all shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of things shall be well.
Amen.

Or you might pray:

O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved,
in quietness and confidence shall be our strength:

Lift us by your Spirit into your presence,
where we may be still and know that you are God;
through Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP)

How do you create + play? Interview with Ryan

Creativity doesn’t always begin with confidence or expertise. Sometimes it begins with noticing something we once loved sitting quietly in the back of a closet and deciding to pick it up again.

In this conversation, I spoke with someone who recently returned to playing guitar after many years away from it. What started as the simple desire to learn one beloved song became something more: a way to quiet the mind, unwind during stressful moments, and connect with emotions that are sometimes hard to name.

His reflections remind us that creativity doesn’t have to be polished or public to be meaningful. Sometimes the most important thing is simply making space for a small, steady practice. One that helps us slow down, listen, and reconnect with ourselves.

Do you remember how you first got into guitar?
I played (poorly) years ago, as a teenager. A year or so ago, I noticed my guitar case was collecting dust in the back of my closet, and I thought I should get it out. I think I also wanted to play a specific song: Oh My Sweet Carolina.

Why that song?
It’s one of my favorite songs. I am not the most emotionally-in-touch person (surprise!), so I wonder if there is some aspect of melancholy in music that I find myself able to connect with more easily than other emotions. As for the song itself, it is beautiful in the way it expresses a longing for the loss of innocence and simplicity.

What happens in you when you play?
My brain gets quiet. There’s something interesting about how, in focusing on the mechanical execution of playing, other things in my head become muted.

Do you ever imagine playing in community?
The idea of making music with other people is appealing. I don’t really have the skill level required right now, but I’d be interested, if I could.

Does playing help you unwind?
Yes. I often find myself getting my guitar out when I’m stressed or emotionally unsettled. It’s calming in a way that I’m not sure I can describe.

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 Ryan, that whenever he reaches for his guitar, he would continue to be enveloped by calm and peace that can only be from your own Spirit. That with every chord he masters, he would find more and more delight in this creative practice and sense more of your delight in Him, just as He is. May the hiddenness of this act of play be an offering of worship from his heart to yours.

Creative Lenten Practice, Session One: Releasing

As Lent begins, we are invited into the wilderness, not to be emptied for the sake of emptiness, but to make room for God.

Through the prophet in the Book of Joel we hear the invitation: “Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and merciful.” Returning often begins with releasing: loosening our grip on what we’ve been holding tightly.

When Jesus Christ speaks of fasting, he describes it as something quiet and hidden, not performative. Fasting can mean setting aside food, but it can also mean releasing habits, expectations, or ways of being that no longer give life.

This simple practice is meant to help you begin Lent gently, by noticing what feels heavy and practicing release with both your heart and your hands.

You can set aside about an hour, or shorten it if needed.

Supplies:

• pen/pencil/marker (for journaling)

• sheets of paper (for journaling)

• cardstock, watercolor paper, canvas, wooden board

• Mod Podge (or glue mixed with water)

• old paint brush

Step 1: Prepare your body (5 minutes)

Make a cup of tea, coffee, or another warm drink if you’d like.
Sit somewhere comfortable.

Before doing anything else, take a few slow breaths and quiet your body.
You might pray silently:

God, help me notice what I am carrying.

Let the silence be enough.

Step 2: Reflect (5 minutes)

Read slowly:

Lent invites us to return to God.
Returning often begins with releasing.
Tonight, you are not striving to become a better version of yourself.
You are simply noticing what feels heavy, clenched, or crowded.

You might imagine Jesus’ invitation:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and carrying heavy burdens.”

What might you be invited to set down, just for now?

Sit with that for a moment.

Step 3: Journal (15–20 minutes)

Write freely in response to one or more of these questions:

• What feels heavy or clenched as I enter Lent?

• What am I holding tightly right now?

• What might I be invited to fast from, not to punish myself, but to make space?

• What feels ready to be loosened, even slightly?

Don’t worry about writing something meaningful or polished, just be honest.

Step 4: Practice Release With Your Hands (15–20 minutes)

Take your journal sheets and slowly tear them into pieces of all different shapes and sizes. Notice the sound and notice your response.

Then take the pieces and glue or tape them onto your heavier paper or canvas to cover the whole page.

You are not trying to make something pretty. You are practicing release with your hands. Let this be prayer.

Step 5: Sit and Wonder (5–10 minutes)

When you’re finished, sit quietly and notice what is present.

You might reflect on one of these:

• I wonder what it felt like to write those words.

• I wonder what happened inside me as I decided what to tear.

• I wonder what the sound of ripping stirred in me.

• I wonder what I noticed in my body as I pulled the paper apart.

• I wonder what it was like to place the torn pieces down in a new way.

• I wonder what God is inviting me to notice in this process?

There is nothing you need to figure out. Just notice.

Step 6: Close

You might end with this simple prayer:

God, receive what I have released.
Hold what I cannot yet let go of.
Make space in me for your life.
Amen.

Allow your piece to dry and keep it for session two, next week.

Creative Prompt: Draw a shape

Then change one side to make it imperfect on purpose.

1. Choose a simple shape:

   • a square

   • a triangle

   • a circle

   • a rectangle

2. Paint or draw most of it slowly on your page (or use this coloring page).

3. Then finish your shape imperfectly. Make it uneven, crooked, wavy or any other way.

Leave it that way. Resist correcting it. Let the imperfection be visible and intentional.

Wondering Questions

• I wonder how it feels to change something on purpose?

• I wonder which part of me wants to fix it?

• I wonder what “perfect” even means here?

• I wonder what becomes possible when something is slightly off?

• I wonder if imperfection can be a form of freedom?

Let the questions sit beside you, not demanding answers.

A Kid-Friendly Version

Invite kids to:

1. Paint a big shape on their paper.

2. Pick one side and make it silly or wiggly on purpose.

You can wonder together:

• Which side did you change?

• Does it make your shape more interesting?

• What would happen if all the shapes were perfectly straight?

Celebrate the weird side. That’s the brave part.

A Closing Invitation

Sit with your imperfect shape for a moment.

Notice:
Does your eye keep returning to the altered side?
Does it soften over time?

You might carry this gentle wondering into your day:

Where in my life could I allow imperfections and trust that it’s still enough?

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.

A Prayer for Making Space

Father, generous Host,
You have made room for us in Your heart and at Your table.
Teach us how to make room in our own lives.

Jesus, gentle Savior,
You stepped away to pray and returned with compassion.
Shape our hurried hearts into hearts that are present and attentive.

Holy Spirit, breath of peace,
quiet what is crowded within us.
Loosen what we cling to.
Create in us a spaciousness where love can grow.

Triune God,
may the margin we keep become holy ground,
a place where You dwell
and where others are truly welcomed.

Amen.

A Lenten Examen: Releasing and Returning

Begin by becoming still.
Take a slow breath. Remember that you are held in the presence of Jesus Christ, who meets you with mercy, not disappointment.

1. Notice the day
Where today did you feel drawn toward God?
Where did you feel distracted, hurried, or pulled away from him?

2. Consider what you are holding
Lent invites us to release the things we think we need —
the habits, comforts, distractions, or even good things
that quietly take our time, energy, and attention.

What feels heavy in your hands right now?
What might God be inviting you to loosen your grip on?

3. Ask for help
Speak honestly with Jesus about what you want to release.
Tell him where you feel resistant, tired, or unsure.
Ask him to help you open your hands.

4. Notice your need
Where did you struggle today?
Where did you fall short of what you hoped Lent would be?

Do not rush past this.
Let your weakness remind you that you need a Savior.
Let it point you back to grace.

5. Receive mercy
Jesus does not wait for you to succeed at Lent.
He meets you in your need.

Sit for a moment and receive his forgiveness, his presence, and his love.

6. Return with hope
Ask for the grace to follow him tomorrow —
not perfectly, but faithfully, one small step at a time.

Amen.

Bearing Witness as a Holy Calling

Yesterday I talked about how sharing parts of my story can be a way of asking you to bear witness to what God has done. I want to talk about what God has done and I want others to see what God has done, not as a point of pride, but because it’s so exciting and good. And bearing witness to that is holy work. I want to bear witness to what God has done and is doing in you, too (this is so much of what spiritual direction is).

Why is bearing witness such a holy calling?

• Because it mirrors how God relates to us.
  God doesn’t just act, He reveals. From the naming of creation in Genesis to the sending of disciples in Acts, God’s work is meant to be seen and told. Bearing witness means we participate in that same pattern: God moves, people notice, people tell.

• Because witness tells the truth without trying to control the outcome.
  A witness doesn’t argue or perform. A witness simply says, this is what I’ve seen God do. The Gospel of John uses this language over and over; testimony lets truth shine without forcing it.

• Because witness honors the dignity and freedom of others.
  When we bear witness, we trust the Holy Spirit to work. We’re not trying to manage someone’s response. We’re simply sharing what is real and leaving space for God to move.

• Because it’s how resurrection keeps traveling through the world.
  The Church didn’t grow because people had perfect explanations. It grew because ordinary people told what they had seen, heard, and experienced of Jesus Christ. That’s still how faith spreads: through lived stories.

• Because witness requires vulnerability.
  To bear witness is to let your life be evidence of God’s life, which can be scary. It means naming where you’ve been changed, where you’ve been carried, where grace has found you. That kind of truth-telling is sacred ground.

Bearing witness isn’t flashy work. It’s quiet, relational, and deeply holy. And when we do it for one another (noticing where God is moving, naming grace out loud, holding each other’s stories with reverence) we become part of how God keeps revealing love in the world.

Book Review: Deep Breath, Little Whisper

We read Deep Breath, Little Whisper by Scott James in our preschool classroom on Sunday, and it was such a lovely fit for this age.

The book gently helps children see that prayer doesn’t have to be long or formal; it can be as simple as a quiet word to God in the middle of an ordinary moment. That idea felt very accessible for our group, and it gave us a natural way to talk about how God listens to even our smallest prayers.

After we read, the teacher in that class had the wonderful idea to have the children make paper heart crafts and each chose a one-word prayer to write on their heart, words like help, thank you, love, and Jesus. It was simple, honest, and developmentally just right.

This is definitely a book I’d use again when introducing prayer to young children, especially as a gentle first step into helping them find their own words for talking with God. It is also a gentle reminder for adults that prayer can be as easy as a deep breath.

Creative Prompt: Tear and Glue

A slow collage prayer

I’ve done a few collage prayers in the past week or so. One was led by fellow a spiritual director and was beautiful and gentle and slow; joining in with her and a few others felt like a gift to myself. In leading that, she helped me make space on a day when I would have struggled on my own. I decided to bring that gift to Sunday school on a day when I led the children in a contemplative exercise — imaginative prayer (more on that sweet time later!) — as a way to respond to the story. And those kids dove in with gusto!

So now I bring that gift to you, trusting that each tear of paper, each stroke of glue, is its own type of wordless prayer. With this practice, I invite you to pray without needing to explain yourself.

Gather a few pieces of paper. They can be:

• old magazines

• colored paper

• scrap paper

• junk mail

• tissue paper

• pages you no longer need

Begin tearing pieces slowly with your hands. Let the edges be uneven. Let the shapes surprise you.

Then begin gluing the pieces down to form any shape, picture, or design you’d like. You can use anything as your background, or download this page.

It doesn’t have to “look like” something and you don’t have to explain what it means.

As you work slowly, you might wonder:

What do I want Jesus to help me with today?
or
What do I want to say to God?

There is no right way to answer. The collage itself can hold the prayer.

Wondering Questions

You might hold one of these quietly while you work:

• I wonder what my hands are expressing that my words can’t?

• I wonder if God receives this just as fully as spoken prayer?

• I wonder what feels torn in me right now?

• I wonder what wants to be mended, supported, or strengthened?

• I wonder what it feels like to let prayer be imperfect?

Notice what arises. No pressure to resolve it.

A Kid-Friendly Version

Invite children to:

1. Tear paper into different shapes and sizes.

2. Glue them down to make a picture or design.

You can gently wonder together:

• What would you like Jesus to help you with?

• Is there something you want to tell God today?

• How does it feel to tear paper instead of cutting it?

Let their answers be simple. Let the art carry what they don’t say.

A Closing Invitation

When you’re finished, sit with your collage for a moment.

Notice:
Where does your eye rest?
Which piece feels most important?
Which one surprised you?

You don’t need to interpret it, just let it be what it is: a prayer made of torn edges and held together with care.

And trust that even this is received with delight.

Look what God did: bearing witness

Sometimes I feel a little bit like a fraud.

I tell people to make ugly art, that what they make doesn’t have to be beautiful or meaningful to anyone else. And then I post my art online, and it’s often the pieces I think look the best. (Though I do try to be transparent about the process and all the messy pages that come in between…)

I tell people not to make their spiritual lives performative but then I share glimpses of mine publicly. And I worry if that makes me a hypocrite.

I’ve been sitting with that tension for a while now. Not trying to solve it too quickly, just noticing it. Because the truth is, the internet only ever shows a sliver of anyone’s life. Mine included. What people see online is not the whole process. It’s really just a glimpse of what grew from it.

Most of my art never leaves my notebook and most of my prayers are wordless and unfinished. Most of the ways I meet God are quiet, ordinary, and completely unshareable. They happen in the margins of the day, in the quiet spaces, in the moments when no one is watching and nothing looks particularly meaningful.

But that hidden space matters to me. It’s where the real work happens. It’s where I’m not trying to say something wise or create something beautiful or offer something helpful. It’s just where I’m showing up honestly.

So why share anything at all?

I think because sometimes what grows in secret becomes something that can serve other people. Not as proof that I’m doing it right or as a performance. But as a kind of witness.

Like saying, Look! This kind of prayer is possible.
Or, Look! God can meet us here too.
Or even just, You’re not the only one trying to figure this out.

There’s a difference, I think, between making something for people and letting people see what has already been made in the quiet.

One feels like performance. The other feels more like testimony.

I don’t always know where that line is. I’m still learning. I still check my motives. I still ask myself whether I’m sharing from a place of honesty or from a place of wanting to be seen a certain way. But I’m also realizing that hiding everything isn’t necessarily more holy. We’re shaped in secret, yes. But sometimes the fruit is meant to be shared. Not all of it. Maybe not even most of it. But sometimes a small piece of what grows in the hidden places can become an invitation for someone else. A reminder that God is at work in ordinary lives, a gentle encouragement to keep showing up.

Most of what shapes us will always remain out of sight. The roots go deeper than anything we could post. So maybe sharing the occasional blossom doesn’t mean the roots are performative. Maybe it’s just a quiet way of saying, Look what God grew here. He can do it in you, too.

Your Monthly Reminder: Make Ugly Art

This is your gentle reminder to make ugly art. Yes, ugly! On purpose!

Why? Because making it ugly keeps the focus on the process, not the outcome. It frees you from performance or comparison. It reminds you that creation isn’t about impressing anyone; it’s about showing up, exploring, and playing.

And here’s something wonderful: even when your art feels “bad,” your skills grow! Every time you pick up a pencil, a paintbrush, or sit at the piano or guitar just to play… every time you throw together a few ingredients in the kitchen without worrying about the final dish… you’re building experience, learning, experimenting. You’re getting better, even if that’s not your goal.

Ugly art is honest art. It’s brave art. It’s art that belongs to you, fully and unapologetically. And in that belonging, in that courage to create without judgment, you’re echoing the Creator. God doesn’t call us to make things beautiful; He makes them beautiful. Our role is simply to join Him in creating.

Even our “ugly” efforts reflect something true and good. As we show up and make, God is at work in us, shaping not just our creations but our hearts. Things that feel awkward or clumsy can still be holy. Things that feel messy can still be part of the story God is telling through you.

So pick up that pencil. Throw some paint on the page. Sit at the keys and just play. Cook something messy. Laugh at the result. Keep creating. Every small, imperfect act is a step deeper into belonging, into belovedness, into the joy of co-creating with the One who made us to create.

Ash Wednesday reflection

Today is Ash Wednesday. The cross on my forehead has already been wiped away, but the ashes still linger in my pores.

I don’t pretend to be an expert on Ash Wednesday or Lent. I’m grateful for the people who guide me in these seasons (my husband, the wise spiritual directors in my life, and the leadership at my church). But what I do know is that we cannot possibly understand the fullness of Joy without remembering the depths of our Sorrow.

Lent invites us to hold both. To face our mortality, our grief, and our need for God, and somehow, at the same time, to live in the enjoyment of Him. Not a loud or easy joy, but the quiet kind that comes from knowing we are held even here. The kind of joy that doesn’t erase grief, but refuses to let grief be the final word.

That feels impossible. And yet the kingdom of God has always been a place where impossibilities meet grace. Again and again, we are invited into paradox: death and life, repentance and joy, ashes and hope.

So maybe that is the invitation of Lent: not to perform sorrow, but to let it open us to mercy. Not to have everything figured out, but to stand honestly before God and remember that we belong to Him.

The cross on my forehead is already wiped away, but the ashes remain. And in that I remember that He carries the cross, and I carry the need. Thanks be to God.

“Enjoy Me”

I’ve been meditating in this quote from Teresa of Avila recently. This is not the stuff of silver linings. This is the hard-fought joy, one that encompasses all our grief and sorrow and loss, that holds, sees, and loves. This enjoyment has grit and battle scars and so much laughter. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s the very real invitation on the table.

Practicing the Presence | Prompt 9: An Unexpected Pop of Color

“Look for an unexpected pop of color and capture it.
Let surprise be a doorway to joy.”

Some days feel muted. The sky is gray. The to-do list is long. The rhythm of life feels predictable, even heavy. And then, almost without warning, you notice it:

A bright red mitten on the sidewalk.
A yellow leaf against dull pavement.
A burst of pink in a winter coat crowd.
A bowl of oranges glowing on the counter.

Color has a way of interrupting us.

It doesn’t demand anything. It simply catches our eye and invites us to look again.

What Is “Practicing the Presence”?

Practicing the presence means paying attention to the small moments where God’s goodness breaks into ordinary life.

It’s not about manufacturing happiness. It’s about noticing what’s already there.

An unexpected pop of color can become a reminder that joy is often quiet and unscheduled. It shows up without an announcement. It surprises us. And sometimes surprise is exactly how grace arrives.

Try This

Today, look intentionally for color, especially somewhere you wouldn’t expect it. Pause when you see it. Let yourself enjoy it without rushing past.

If you’d like, take a photo, not for perfection, but as a way of saying, I almost missed this.

Then ask yourself:

• What did this small surprise stir in me?

• When was the last time I allowed joy to interrupt my day?

• Where might God be inviting me to notice beauty more closely?

Joy doesn’t always come through big moments. Sometimes it slips in quietly, bright and unplanned. Look for it. You might be surprised.

Creative Prompt: Paint a Rainbow

I wonder what promise you need to remember?

Rainbows are one of the first symbols many of us learn to recognize. They show up in children’s books and skies after storms, in crayon drawings and old stories passed down through generations.

A rainbow doesn’t erase the storm. It appears afterwards as a reminder. Today’s creative practice invites you to paint a rainbow, not as decoration, but as an act of remembering.

Remembering is a spiritual practice. Not remembering facts but remembering truth when it’s easy to forget. A rainbow reminds us that storms don’t last forever, beauty can follow difficulty, and promises are often quieter than we expect. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is look back and say, I’ve seen goodness before.

Paint a rainbow on your page.

It can be:

• traditional or unexpected

• bold or barely-there

• perfectly arched or uneven and wandering

You can paint every color clearly, or let them blend and bleed into one another. There is no correct version.

As you paint, hold this gentle wondering: What promise do you need to remember right now?

Watercolor Option

1. Lightly sketch an arc if you want or begin directly with paint.

2. Paint one color at a time, moving slowly across the page.

3. Allow colors to touch, soften, or blur.

4. Pause between colors if you need to.

You don’t have to fill the page. A single arc is enough.

Colored Pencil or Crayon Option

1. Draw a rainbow using crayons or colored pencils, or use this coloring page.

2. Press firmly in some places and lightly in others.

3. You can repeat colors, skip some, or invent new ones.

Let your hand choose what comes next.

Wondering Questions

You might hold one or two of these gently while you work or afterward.

• I wonder what promises have carried me before?

• I wonder which promises feel hard to trust right now?

• I wonder what it feels like to remember instead of strive?

• I wonder where hope shows up quietly in my life?

• I wonder if the promise comes after the storm, not instead of it?

A Kid-Friendly Version

Invite kids to paint or draw a rainbow in any way they like.

You can wonder together:

• What do rainbows make you think of?

• When do rainbows usually appear?

• What is something good you hope for?

You don’t need to explain the promise. Let imagination lead.

A Closing Invitation

When you’re finished, sit with your page for a moment.
Which colors stand out?
Which feel gentle or strong?

You might carry this wondering with you: What promise wants to be remembered today?

Let the rainbow hold it for you even if the answer is still forming.

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 When It Feels Hard

We talk a lot about making space for God as if it’s a simple, quiet thing we can just decide to do.

But for many of us, making space alone is actually one of the hardest parts of the spiritual life.

Distractions pile up. Noise fills the room (and our heads). Productivity values whisper that we should be doing something useful instead. Anxiety hums in the background, making stillness feel unsafe or impossible. Even prayer itself can feel like one more task we’re failing to do “right.”

So we tell ourselves we’ll try again tomorrow. Or when life is calmer. Or when we’re less tired. Or when we feel more spiritual.

And the space never quite opens.

You’re Not Broken; You’re Human

If sitting alone with God feels hard, that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re human.

We are formed by a world that rewards speed, output, and constant engagement. Of course silence feels awkward. Of course listening feels unfamiliar. Of course prayer sometimes feels inaccessible.

God knows this about us.

Which is one of the reasons spiritual direction has existed in the Church for centuries.

Why Spiritual Direction Helps Us Make Space

Spiritual direction isn’t about fixing your prayer life or achieving spiritual goals. At its heart, it’s simply about making space—intentionally, gently, and with support.

When you make an appointment for spiritual direction, you are doing something powerful:

• You are setting aside real time to be with God.

• You are allowing someone else to hold the container so you don’t have to.

• You are giving yourself permission to slow down, notice, and listen.

You don’t have to arrive calm. You don’t have to know what to say. You don’t even have to feel particularly prayerful.

The space itself does the work.

Together, we pay attention to where God is already present in your life, often in places you might overlook on your own.

Making Space in Gentle, Creative Ways

For some people, silence and words are enough. For others, they aren’t.

That’s why spiritual direction doesn’t have to look only one way.

In my work, I’m open to incorporating creative practices (simple art-making, reflective prompts, embodied practices) as well as reading and wondering together with children’s books.

Stories have a way of bypassing our defenses. Images can speak when words feel thin. Creative practices can open doors that effort alone cannot.

None of this replaces prayer. It is prayer, just offered in forms that meet us where we are.

An Invitation

If you’ve been longing for space with God but finding it hard to make on your own, spiritual direction may be a gift to receive, not a task to add.

I am trained and available for ongoing spiritual direction, and I welcome sessions that include creativity, story, and gentle exploration alongside conversation and prayer.

You don’t have to figure this out alone.

If you feel a quiet nudge of curiosity or desire, I’d love to talk with you about what spiritual direction could look like for you.

Questions for Intentional Living

Usually at the end of the month, I will post some type of examen: a way of looking back to notice God and what He has been saying. But this month, since we are still close to the start of the year, I’d like to post a gentle, forward-looking reflection. It’s not about resolutions, or figuring things out, or setting intentions to keep. It’s simply a way of noticing how you might want to move more intentionally through your days, attentive to God’s quiet invitations.

Read the questions slowly. You don’t need to answer all of them. Just notice which one or two stands out and sit with those for a few minutes, whether in silence, in a journal, or while doing a creative exercise.

There is nothing to complete here, only something to pay attention to.

Creativity

• What kind of making feels possible for me right now?

• What would it be like to create without rushing or proving anything?

Rest

• What actually helps me rest in this season of my life?

• Where am I longing for more space, slowness, or gentleness?

Play

• What brings lightness or quiet delight?

• When do I feel most like myself?

Attention

• What do I want to give my care and attention to right now?

• Who am I being invited to show up for more intentionally?

• How am I being invited to love God, love others, and receive love in the way of Jesus in this season?

Letting Go

• What am I ready to hold more lightly?

• What might I gently set down as I move into the days ahead?

God, help us notice the life you are inviting us into, the abundant life Christ speaks of, shaped by creativity, rest, and play.