Creative Prompt: Draw a map of somewhere sacred.
Some places hold something more than just memory. They become sacred to us, holy ground, even if no one else would know it.
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It might be a place where you felt seen. Where you took a deep breath after holding it in for too long. Where you met God, or beauty, or a sense of peace you couldn’t explain.
This week’s creative prompt is simple:
Draw a map of somewhere sacred to you.
You could sketch a real place:
A childhood hideaway, your grandmother’s porch, a favorite hiking trail, a chapel.
Or you could imagine an inner place, an emotional or spiritual sanctuary.
What would the path look like? Are there landmarks? A quiet bench? A gate? A river? A kitchen table? You don’t have to make it pretty. You just have to make space to remember.
Use lines and shapes. Add color or don’t. Label the parts, or leave them unnamed.
Let your hand move, and let the memory (or desire) rise. Let the map be a kind of prayer. A quiet gratitude. A longing.
While you work, ask yourself:
What made this place sacred to you?
Is there a story here that still lives in you?
What emotions surface as you revisit it on paper?
Is there a way to return—not in body, but in spirit?
Maybe your map is a way back.
Kid-friendly option:
Ask: If you could draw a map to anywhere you’ve ever felt happy, cozy, or full of wonder, what would it look like?
Invite them to:
Include silly or sweet landmarks (the Giggle Tree, Hot Cocoa Rock, the Blanket Fort).
Add paths, signs, secret doors.
Give it a name!
You can also try:
“Let’s make a map of a place we love as a family.”
Draw it together. Add hearts or stars where special things happen.
Encourage storytelling. Ask them what lives there, who visits, what they do. It doesn’t have to be real to be true.
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.
And if your map doesn’t feel “done”. Maybe that’s okay too.
Some sacred places are still unfolding.
Book review: Maybe
I love the idea of buying sweet children’s books for high school and college grads, and Maybe by Kobi Yamada is the perfect book for that purpose. I recently bought this one for a college grad and it seemed to suit her perfectly! (But I liked it so much, I had to buy another copy.) With its gentle encouragement and whimsical illustrations, Maybe is a reminder that our potential is vast, our worth is inherent, and our future is still full of beautiful unknowns. It’s the kind of book that speaks to the heart, no matter your age, and offers a quiet, hopeful blessing for whatever comes next.
What does it mean to bloom?
My post on Instagram a few days ago got me thinking more deeply about what it really means to bloom. I love using that word with pictures of flowers, but I didn’t want it to be some trite caption, like, flowers bloom and you can too! I wanted it to really mean something.
I keep coming back to the idea of blooming as gentle growth toward our true selves. Or as I wrote in that post: to unfold into the fullness of who you are with freedom, abundance, and joy. Just like a flower doesn’t force itself open, blooming is a process of allowing, not striving. It happens when the conditions are right: sunlight, water, space.
For people, those conditions often include rest, play, and safety.
One of the places where those conditions are intentionally nurtured is in spiritual direction. Spiritual direction helps create space where blooming becomes not only possible, but often, inevitable. It doesn’t “make” you bloom the way sunlight makes a flower open. But it turns toward the light with you. It makes space for it. It witnesses the slow, often hidden, unfolding of who you are becoming in God.
Here’s how spiritual direction supports blooming:
It offers safety and stillness.
In a noisy, fast-paced world, spiritual direction gives you permission to pause, listen, and be listened to without agenda. That kind of presence is deeply nourishing. It creates the right internal conditions for blooming.
It helps you notice where life is already stirring.
Spiritual directors are trained to listen for grace, for freedom, for the gentle movement of the Spirit. They help you see where growth is happening—even if it's underground.
It honors all seasons.
Spiritual direction doesn’t rush your blooming. It holds space for winter, for pruning, for lying fallow. It trusts that dormancy isn’t deadness—it’s preparation.
It returns you to the true self.
Blooming isn’t about becoming something new and shiny. It’s about unfolding into who God created you to be all along. Direction gently peels away what’s false or forced and helps you reconnect to your God-given core.
And it often invites contemplative play, not always with crayons or crafts (though those are welcome!), but through wonder, metaphor, silence, curiosity, and imagination. The kinds of play that open the soul instead of performing for others.
In short: Spiritual direction is like a quiet garden where your soul gets room to breathe, grow, and rest in the presence of the Divine Gardener. Blooming tends to follow, not because you're trying harder, but because you're finally safe enough to unfold.
So when I say “bloom,” I mean that.
Not pressure. Not productivity.
Just a holy, spacious becoming.
For parents who want to help their children to bloom: it’s not about pushing or shaping them into something. It’s about creating the kind of safe, spacious environment where they feel deeply seen, loved, and free to unfold in their own time. That might look like making time for unstructured play, honoring their natural rhythms, inviting their questions without rushing to answer, or simply delighting in who they already are (“I’m so glad you’re you.”). Like a steady gardener, you don’t bloom them, but you can protect the soil, offer warmth, and trust the holy process already at work in them.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 2: Hands at Work
“Capture hands at work—or well-used tools.”
There’s something sacred about hands. The ones that make, mend, stir, soothe, carry, scrub, write. The ones that belong to you and the ones that have shaped your life in quiet ways.
We often rush past the work of our hands. We focus on what we’re getting done, not on how God might be meeting us in the act of doing.
But what if washing the dishes could become a kind of prayer? What if holding a pencil, stirring soup, or folding a wrinkled shirt could be a place where we notice the nearness of God?
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
It’s a spiritual practice rooted in the idea that God is always with us and that we can learn to be with God in return, not just in church or on our knees, but in the rhythms of daily life.
Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century monk who worked in the kitchen of his monastery, called it “the holiest and most necessary practice in the spiritual life.”
He wrote:
“We can do little things for God… we turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of Him, and that done, if there is nothing else to call us, we prostrate ourselves in worship before Him…”
God meets us in the middle of flour-dusted counters, paint-smeared fingers, muddy boots.
Try This
Take a moment today to notice the hands at work in your life.
Maybe it’s your own: scrubbing, stirring, typing, holding.
Maybe it’s someone else’s: planting a garden, tying a shoelace, sanding a piece of wood.
Or maybe it’s the worn tools themselves: threadbare dish towels, paintbrushes with frayed ends, a much-used wooden spoon.
Take a photo if you like. Not for show, but as a way to slow down and say: “God, you are here in this.”
Ask yourself:
What are my hands doing today?
What love is hidden in this ordinary task?
How might this small act become a place of communion?
If you’d like to share what you find, tag your photo with #PracticingPresence or leave a comment below. I’d love to see through your eyes.
Make Space: begin with just one pause
This week, try beginning with just one small pause, a moment to clear a little room in your heart, your schedule, or even your table.
Light a candle before breakfast.
Set aside one thing that’s crowding your space or your mind.
Open a blank page and take a breath before you write or draw.
Lately, I’ve noticed how often I reach for my phone
when instead, I could simply pause. Breathe. Be present in the moment. It feels like such a cliché! I wish I could say I was past it. But the pull is real, and I’m learning to notice that moment before the reach to choose stillness instead.
This week I’ve been carrying some heavier things, so I’ve been extra gentle with myself and intentionally made more space for quiet art time and reflection. It’s helped more than I expected.
One thing I love about spiritual direction is how much it honors this kind of space-making. When you schedule time with a spiritual director, you’re making an appointment with someone else to help you make space for God.
And honestly? That’s often the only way it happens. It’s hard to do on your own, especially for a full hour.
But you don’t need an hour. Or a perfect setup. Sometimes, making space is just:
turning down the noise
setting down the phone
asking God, “What do You want to grow here?”
Even a few quiet moments can change the shape of your day.
For Life with Little Ones (or Big Distractions):
Making space might look like:
a few deep breaths while your child plays
turning off music for one quiet car ride
a short breath prayer as you fold the laundry
I remember a breath prayer I used a lot, especially when my kids were little: (inhale) Lord, lift up my head. (exhale) I can’t do this without you.
Even this can be enough.
Creative Prompt: Draw a doorway you’d like to step through.
Creative prompts like this one are designed to help you slow down, listen inwardly, and connect with God through play, color, and curiosity.
This week’s invitation is simple: Draw a doorway you’d like to step through.
What kind of doorway is calling to you today? Is it small and secret, hidden in a tree? Wide and golden, opening into the sun? Ancient? Magical? Ordinary but holy?
Maybe it opens into a place of peace, rest, possibility, healing, or joy. Let your doorway become a prayer. A quiet hope. A brave imagining.
Let your imagination lead. Don’t worry about making it perfect, just make it yours.
Use whatever materials feel good: crayons, markers, paint, collage. Let it be messy or abstract if it needs to be. This isn’t about getting it “right.” It’s about making time to play, rest, and listen to what’s stirring in you.
(If you’d rather not start from scratch, here are some doorway coloring pages you can color instead, add your own features, or simply write a few words.)
While you work, ask yourself:
What do you hope is on the other side?
What do you feel as you stand before it: curiosity? hesitation? longing?
What if God is already on the other side, waiting… and also right here with you?
When you're done, take a few quiet minutes to sit with what you’ve made. Ask God to help you notice what’s showing up. Is there something in you that needs tending, noticing, or blessing? Or maybe this was simply a time of joy and rest. That’s holy too. Thank God for that, and carry it with you.
Kid-friendly option: draw a portal to anywhere they’d like to go. Ask:
What does your door look like?
Does it need a password?
What happens when you open it?
Encourage storytelling and imagination. Maybe their door leads to a cloud library, a garden of dreams, a starship, or Grandma’s kitchen.
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. You can tag me on Instagram or leave a comment below. I love witnessing the quiet beauty of your creative prayers.
Monthly Examen: A Prayerful Pause
Each month, I am going to invite a time to pause, reflect, and pay attention to the presence of God in our lives, to our emotions, and to the movement of grace in ordinary moments. The five steps of St. Ignatius’s Examen offer a gentle framework for this kind of reflection:
Become aware of God’s presence.
Review the day with gratitude.
Pay attention to your emotions.
Choose one feature of the day and pray from it.
Look toward tomorrow.
Let’s take a few quiet minutes together and look back over the past month.
When did you feel closest to God?
Was it in the middle of joy or celebration? Or perhaps in a moment of grief or struggle? Maybe it came through Scripture, through creativity, through time in nature, or in the quiet of an ordinary afternoon. There’s no wrong answer. Simply pause and notice.
When did you feel most like your true self?
Was there a moment when something deep inside whispered, This is what I was made for? Try to remember that feeling: what you were doing, who you were with, how it felt in your body.
Were there moments when God felt distant?
When you longed for Him but couldn’t sense His nearness? Hold those moments gently. Bring them to God now. Ask Him what He wants you to know about His presence, even when it feels hidden.
What are you grateful for from this past month?
Is there a particular day, moment, or even a small detail that fills you with warmth or thankfulness? Offer that gratitude back to God.
Where do you need help right now?
Is there an ongoing struggle or quiet ache you’re carrying? Invite God into that place of need. You don’t have to have the right words, just be honest.
What are your hopes for the month ahead?
Tell God what you’re longing for, dreaming of, or simply what you need. Even though He already knows, there is something powerful about naming those hopes in prayer.
Book Review: The Rabbit Listened
The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeldis a picture book that offers a profound message wrapped in simplicity. When Taylor’s block tower is destroyed, a parade of animals rush in with suggestions - shouting, fixing, blaming, distracting - but none of them truly help. Only the rabbit, who sits in stillness and listens, provides what Taylor needs: space to feel and be.
This deceptively simple story touches the heart of what I believe both contemplative play and spiritual direction are all about. In a culture that often encourages us to fix, solve, or distract ourselves from discomfort, The Rabbit Listened offers another way: to make space, to stay present, to listen with compassion and without agenda.
This book holds special meaning for me personally. It was read aloud during my very first spiritual direction training residency. I remember feeling so nervous: uncertain why I was there and why it felt so hard when I thought I’d already come so far. Looking back, I now see it as an invitation to deeper healing. But at the time, I just felt raw and overwhelmed. And then this book appeared, a children’s story about a bunny. It felt like a love note from God: “I see you. I’m with you. It’s going to be okay.” (And if you don’t know this about me, we have a pet bunny at home, which made the moment all the more tender and affirming.)
Like the rabbit in the story, spiritual direction isn’t about fixing or offering advice. It’s about holding space with gentle presence. And contemplative play, too, invites this kind of listening—to ourselves, to God, to one another. Whether through storytelling, art, or simply being still, we practice attending to what is, without rushing to change it.
The Rabbit Listened is a beautiful resource for anyone who wants to nurture this kind of presence. It reminds us that healing doesn’t always come through doing. Sometimes, it comes through being still.
Play Prompt: Take a Walk
Rogationtide is an old tradition of walking the land to pray for the earth and its fruitfulness. This week, we're reviving it through contemplative play.
Take a slow nature walk, alone or with kids, as a way to bless the land beneath your feet. Pause to notice, name, and give thanks. What’s growing? What’s changing? What’s calling your attention?
My friend Elise and I put together a free guide (with prayers adapted from the Book of Common Prayer and Every Moment Holy) and a printable scavenger hunt for our church, and I wanted to share it with you today. Let it help you turn a simple walk into a sacred practice.
sacred story time (climb a tree)
This week, I’m beginning a new series that uses classic children’s stories—beginning with Winnie-the-Pooh—to spark contemplative play. These prompts are meant to help you slow down, notice the world around you, and engage your spirit through simple acts of creativity, curiosity, and prayer.
In this first story, Pooh hears a buzzing in a tree and, being the thoughtful bear that he is, sits down to think about it. That small act—sitting, listening, wondering—feels like just the right place to begin.
I encourage you to enter like a child, while we read, wonder, and imagine together.
Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself under the name of Sanders.
One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.
Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.
First of all he said to himself: "That buzzing-noise means something. You don't get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there's a buzzing-noise, somebody's making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you're a bee."
Then he thought another long time, and said: "And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey."
And then he got up, and said: "And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it." So he began to climb the tree.
Noticing Prompt
Find a tree to sit under or climb. What do you notice? Is the bark rough or smooth? What color are the leaves? How does the air feel—warm or cool? Do you hear any sounds? See any animals or insects? Take a moment to simply be, and notice how you feel as you sit with nature.
Play Prompt
Read or listen to a children’s book outside—under a tree if you can. Read slowly, like a child hearing it for the first time. What parts bring you joy or make you smile?
Imagination Prompt
If you were a tree, what kind would you be? What would your bark feel like? What color would your leaves be? Why? Try drawing or coloring yourself as a tree.
Prayer
Lord, help me see your world with wonder. Teach me to slow down and notice even thesmallest things—like the bark of a tree. Help me come to you like a child: curious, open, and full of need.
Download a PDF of this content for a Winnie-the-Pooh coloring page!
Jesus and the Sacred Gift of Play
When we think of spiritual practices, we often think of prayer, silence, scripture, or stillness. But I want to offer a gentle reminder: Play can be sacred, too.
Not play for productivity. Not play as a break from "real" spiritual life. But play as a gentle, open-ended way of engaging the world—one that brings us into presence, wonder, and connection with the sacred.
I call this contemplative play.
As strange as it may sound, I believe contemplative play is a deeply spiritual practice. And I believe Jesus would agree.
Jesus said, “Become like little children.”
In the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t just tolerate children, He welcomes them and lifts them up as models of faith.
“Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” He says (Matthew 18:3).
Children are open, curious, and creative. They’re fully present. They laugh easily. They don’t worry about performing or earning love. They simply are.
When we play, without agenda or pressure, we begin to return to that childlike posture. We remember that we are loved, not because of what we produce, but because we belong.
Jesus taught through story, gesture, and imagination.
He didn’t hand out theological treatises. He told stories. He drew in the dirt. He used mustard seeds, lilies, coins, and sheep to help people encounter deeper truth. His way of teaching invited the imagination, the senses, and the body, not just the intellect. It welcomed play. Not to escape reality, but to encounter God more deeply within it.
Play reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously.
Jesus didn’t avoid joy. He celebrated. He turned water into wine. He welcomed children into the middle of serious conversations.
Contemplative play helps us soften. It reminds us not to take ourselves too seriously and to take God’s love more seriously than we ever imagined. It makes room for delight.
And isn’t that what Jesus came to bring? “I have told you this so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete” (John 15:11).
In a world that often equates faith with striving and seriousness, play is a form of holy resistance.
It says: I don’t have to earn love. I can laugh, rest, create, and explore. I am God’s beloved child.
Play helps us follow the movement of the Spirit.
Jesus often moved in surprising, Spirit-led ways. He turned aside to touch the untouchable. He paused in the middle of crowds to ask questions. He noticed the overlooked.
The Spirit still moves like that: in whispers, in nudges, in unexpected joy.
Contemplative play helps us practice noticing. It trains us to be receptive and open. It slows us down enough to see where God might be showing up in ordinary, even playful, ways.
Jesus invites us to come as children.
Not childish, but childlike: open, trusting, curious, and ready to play.
Because sometimes the most sacred thing we can do is allow ourselves to be delighted.
Want to try contemplative play for yourself?
Each month, I’ll share creative and noticing prompts, coloring pages, and picture book reviews to help you explore this practice at your own pace.
But here’s another beautiful way to experience it firsthand:
Sign up to serve in children’s ministry at your local church.
Seriously. It’s one of the best places to learn how to come to Jesus like a child. You’ll be surrounded by wonder, curiosity, creativity, and holy interruptions. Children will show you how to laugh, question, trust, and play.
You’ll be reminded, again and again, that faith isn’t about striving. It’s about being present.
That’s what I do, and it’s one of the richest parts of my spiritual life.
So try contemplative play at home, and consider joining the playful, sacred work happening with children in your church community.
Let them lead you into the kingdom.
How Spiritual Direction is Different than Counseling
I often get asked how spiritual direction is different from counseling—especially Christian counseling. It’s a great question, and one that deserves a thoughtful answer, because while both can be deeply supportive, they serve different purposes.
Here are five ways spiritual direction stands apart:
1. There’s no advice.
It might feel surprising at first, especially if you're used to counseling or mentoring, but spiritual direction isn’t about receiving guidance on what to do. You might hear familiar questions, like “How does that make you feel?”, but they serve a different purpose. My role isn’t to help you solve a problem; it’s to help you notice God’s presence in your life and listen more deeply.
2. Everything comes back to your relationship with God.
You can bring anything to spiritual direction: work, relationships, loss, joy, doubt. But no matter what we talk about, the lens is always your relationship with God. The real question is: Where is God in this? or What might God be inviting you into?
3. There’s a lot of silence.
In counseling, silence might feel awkward, something to be filled. In spiritual direction, silence is sacred. It’s in the stillness that we often hear God’s whisper. We make room for the Holy Spirit to speak, not just to talk about God, but to actually listen to God together.
4. It is restful.
Spiritual direction isn’t another task or therapy appointment. It’s an invitation to rest. After a busy or emotionally charged day, it can feel like stepping into a quiet sanctuary. There’s nothing you have to perform or fix. You can just breathe.
5. You leave lighter.
You might come in carrying burdens (confusion, grief, longing) but most people leave feeling lighter. Not because everything is “fixed,” but because they’ve remembered what’s true: that they are seen, loved, and accompanied by God. That reassurance is powerful.
6. The director is not the expert—you are.
In counseling, the therapist often brings clinical expertise. In spiritual direction, we trust that you already know God and are learning to recognize God's voice. The director is simply a companion, helping you notice and name what is already true in your experience.
7. It’s about presence, not performance.
You don’t need to come with a goal, a question, or a tidy narrative. There’s no expectation to “make progress.” Just bring your honest self, tired, joyful, angry, numb, hopeful, and we’ll sit with whatever is there.
8. It’s slow on purpose.
Spiritual direction doesn’t rush. In a world that prizes productivity and answers, direction invites you to slow down and linger. Some sessions might feel like “nothing happened” but in time, those slow moments often turn out to be sacred ground.
9. It’s rooted in trust in the Spirit’s work.
There’s a shared belief that the Holy Spirit is the real director in the room. We’re both listening together, not just to what’s said, but to what’s stirred. The emphasis isn’t on technique or outcome, but on discernment and presence.
10. It's often seasonal or cyclical.
While counseling may be ongoing or tied to specific goals, spiritual direction often ebbs and flows. People sometimes enter direction during a time of discernment, grief, transition, or spiritual dryness—and continue because it becomes a place of grounding through all seasons.
In short, spiritual direction isn’t about fixing or figuring things out. It’s about noticing. Noticing where God is moving. Noticing how you’re responding. Noticing how deeply you are loved.
If you’ve never experienced spiritual direction and are curious, I’d love to talk more. It’s one of the most gentle, life-giving practices I know, and it’s always a gift to hold that sacred space with someone.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 1: Sunlight Through Leaves
“Photograph sunlight filtering through leaves.”
There is something quietly holy about the way light moves through the world.
Not just the sunrise or sunset kind of light—but the soft, ordinary light that dapples through trees on your morning walk, glints off the kitchen counter, or spills across the carpet when no one is watching.
This light doesn’t demand attention.
It just arrives.
And when we notice it—when we stop for a moment, breathe, and look up, we’re reminded:
God is here, too.
What is “Practicing the Presence”?
It’s an old phrase, most often associated with Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century monk who found God not only in prayer but in washing dishes.
It means learning to be with God in the everyday: in the chopping of vegetables, the tying of shoes, the folding of laundry. In birdsong. In traffic. In sunlight through leaves.
It’s not about doing more, but about noticing more.
About looking again.
Try This
At some point today, pause and look for the light, not just where it is obvious, but where it’s slipping in quietly.
Take a photo if you like. Not to perform or impress, but to practice presence. To hold the moment. To remember.
Ask yourself:
What does this light reveal?
What is God like in this moment?
What happens in me when I pause to notice?
If you’d like to share what you find, tag your photo with #PracticingPresence or leave a comment below. I’d love to see through your eyes.
holy snacking
For the past few weeks, I’ve been working on a video that highlights the children’s ministry at my church. As part of it, I asked each child three simple questions:
What’s your favorite thing about Sunday school?
What’s your favorite Bible story?
Do you like going to church?
The answers were hilarious, heart-melting, and holy.
Without exception, every single child mentioned “snack time” or “snacks” as their favorite part of Sunday school. I’ll admit, about 5% of me wished they had said something about the teachers, the Bible stories, or at least offered up the classic Sunday school answer: “Jesus.” But nope. It’s the snacks.
The other 95% of me? Completely delighted.
Because honestly, this is exactly what Jesus meant when he said to come to him like a child: joyfully, wholeheartedly, and maybe even just a little hungry. What if we approached life—snacks included—with that same kind of delight? What if even something as ordinary as snacking could become an act of worship?
And then there was the third question: Do you like going to church?
Every child answered yes. Every single one. In this day and age, that feels like a small miracle.
Is it just because of the snacks? Maybe. But I think there’s more to it, even if the kids don’t have the words for it yet. They feel loved. They feel seen. They feel safe. They get to play with their friends, be silly, be honest, and just be kids. And yes, they get to say—without shame or pretense—that their favorite part is snack time.
And that, I think, is holy too.
Creative Prompt: Mark-making
creative prompts designed to help you slow down, listen inwardly, and connect with God through play, color, and curiosity
This week’s prompt is simple—but surprisingly powerful.
Make marks. That’s it.
Scribble. Doodle. Dot. Swipe. Smudge.
Use a pencil, a crayon, a paintbrush, a finger dipped in dirt. Let your body lead before your mind catches up. Try to fill a whole page.
Mark-making is a sacred yes. A quiet way of saying: “I’m here.” It’s not about skill—it’s about presence. Each line, swirl, or smudge becomes a prayer without words. It reminds us: the Kingdom of God is near, even in this tiny, messy mark.
You can fill a whole page with little scratches.
You can trace circles again and again.
You can make a mess—on purpose.
Questions for reflection:
What did you think about when you were making marks?
How did you feel while you were making different kinds of marks?
Looking at the marks now, how do you feel about them?
You might light a candle, play quiet music, or go outside and make marks in sand, snow, or sidewalk chalk. You can use the attached sheet to give you a place to start. Or just sit with a piece of paper and give your body permission to move.
You don’t need to understand it. Just begin.
Kid-friendly option: Invite children to explore how different movements make different marks. Encourage storytelling through the marks: “This is a dragon’s breath!” or “These are sleepy stars.”
What happens when you move fast?
What if you press really gently?
What if your crayon is a magic wand? Or your finger is a butterfly?
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create! When I share these prompts, I will always try to share what I create as well. You can tag me on Instagram or leave a comment below.
Book Recommendation: Grief is an Elephant
Grief can be hard to describe—especially for children—but Tamara Ellis Smith gives us a powerful metaphor in Grief is an Elephant. This beautifully illustrated picture book compares grief to an elephant: enormous, ever-present, sometimes gentle and sometimes wild. The text is poetic, with a rhythm that invites quiet reflection, and the illustrations by Nancy Whitesides offer both emotional weight and moments of lightness.
What I love most is how the book doesn’t try to rush through grief or explain it away. Instead, it honors it. The elephant becomes a companion, one that changes over time. This makes the book not only a comforting resource for children experiencing loss, but also a conversation starter—a way for families or classrooms to talk about emotions that often feel too big for words.
Contemplative Play Prompt:
Invite your child (or yourself) to draw what their grief feels like. If it were an animal, what would it be? What does it do? Where does it live? Let the image unfold slowly. No need to explain—just notice.
Creative Prompt: Draw your soul as a garden.
Welcome to the first in a new series of creative prompts designed to help you slow down, listen inwardly, and connect with God through play, color, and curiosity.
This week’s prompt is: Draw your soul as a garden.
What would be growing there?
Is it wild or cultivated?
Are there weeds or secret paths?
What’s blooming—or waiting to bloom?
You can use crayons, markers, paint, or even collage. It might be messy. It might be abstract. That’s okay—this isn’t about making something perfect. It’s about making time to play and rest and listen to what’s stirring in you. (If it’s easier, I’ve attached a coloring page to do instead! Add your own flowers and garden features, or simply write a few words.)
When you are done, take a few minutes to reflect and respond to God. Ask Him for help noticing, and lift up in prayer what might need tending. This could also just be a time of rest and play! If that’s how it felt to you, thank God for the time.
Kid-friendly option: Let them draw their own gardens and tell the stories out loud.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create! When I share these prompts, I will always try to share what I create as well. You can tag me on Instagram or leave a comment below.
What I’m About and Where This Blog Is Headed
It’s been a while since I’ve written here. That’s partly because the last couple of years have been filled with deep reflection as I’ve moved through my training in spiritual direction. In the past, this blog served as a kind of examen—a space to name and notice how God has been shaping me. But with regular written examens required throughout my training, my need to process publicly here has naturally quieted down.
Now, as that season begins to draw to a close, I find myself asking the big questions again (questions we all ask, and if we don’t, maybe we should be?):
What’s next?
What am I passionate about?
How do I most want to spend my time?
A recent retreat gave me the space to listen. I journaled. I made lists—of what I love, what I want to do more of, and what I want to release. And through all of that emerged something simple, honest, and energizing.
Here’s what I’m about:
Teaching kids and adults contemplative spiritual practices through:
coloring books and journals
picture books (mine and others)
Godly Play and other contemplative curricula
arts-and-crafts-based play
When I step back and look at it, the phrase that best captures all of this is “contemplative play.” Or, put another way, finding God in play—encountering the sacred through color, imagination, story, and creative rest.
So, I’ve been doing some refreshing behind the scenes—updating my website and narrowing my focus. I want this blog (and the monthly newsletters to come) to be a space where I share ideas, prompts, and resources to help you bring contemplative play into your own life and the lives of those you love.
Whether you’re a parent, educator, spiritual director, or creative soul just looking for something deeper—I hope you’ll journey with me.
Let’s make space. Let’s create and play. Let’s go deeper. Let’s rest and remember.