Making Space as Surrender

I've been wrestling with the phrase make space for God. I don't want my spiritual practices to become another list of things I should be doing. I don't want to imagine that if I pray enough, sit in silence long enough, or pay close enough attention, I can somehow make God show up. Because God is already here.

So perhaps making space isn't really about creating something at all. Maybe making space is an act of surrender. It's releasing my need to make something happen. Releasing the pressure to have a meaningful experience with God. Releasing even my attempts to notice God particularly well.

Instead, I can rest in what is already true: God is present. God is acting. God is holding me.

And from that place of surrender, I can make actual, embodied space in my life. I can put down my phone. Sit in silence. Pick up a paintbrush. Take a walk. Pray. Wonder. Pay attention. Not because these things bring God closer, but because I am learning to orient my life toward the God who is already close.

That's the part of making space I don't want to lose. The space is my actual life—my house, my body, my work, my relationships, my neighborhood, my time. I want all of it to be increasingly oriented around God.

But that orientation begins with surrender, not effort. So maybe I can keep asking myself each month, How will I make space for God? As long as I remember that the question isn't really What spiritual things will I accomplish this month?

It's closer to: Where can I stop striving? How might I turn toward the God who is already here?

And maybe before I make any plans at all, I can breathe:

Inhale: You are already here.

Exhale: I surrender to your presence.

Making space isn't how I get myself to God. It's surrendering to the God who is already here.

What Does It Mean to “Make Space for God”?

At the beginning of every month, I talk about how we can make space for God. I appreciate that practice because it helps me center myself before God and realign my priorities. It brings my attention back to what God is already doing.

But to be honest, I'm getting so I don't even like the term make space. Sometimes it sounds like something we do in our own strength, almost as if we can manufacture God's presence. If I can just be quiet enough, pray enough, slow down enough, pay enough attention...then maybe I'll experience God. And when something becomes dependent on our own effort, we inevitably feel guilty when we fail.

Making space becomes another spiritual achievement.

Every month, I like to set an intention and ask, How will I make space for God this month? I still think there is something good about that question. But I can't stay there too long without reminding myself of what comes first:

God is already here. God is already acting. God is already holding me.

Silence, creativity, spiritual direction, wondering, prayer—none of these practices produce God's presence. They aren't techniques for getting ourselves into the right state so God can reach us. They're ways of turning toward a reality that precedes our effort.

And maybe even more importantly: I don't have to successfully make space for God for God to be present.

I don't have to have a beautiful quiet time. I don't have to feel particularly spiritual. I don't even have to be particularly good at paying attention. God isn't waiting on the other side of my successful spiritual practice. He's already here.

So I'm still wrestling with what I mean when I say make space for God. Maybe I don't need to stop saying it. Maybe I just need to understand it differently.

are you creative? take this test and see!

Take this test to find out if you are creative (even if you think you know the answer already!):

‍ ‍

1. Have you noticed something lately that made you stop and pay attention?
   A sunset, an interesting building, a funny-shaped mushroom, a song, someone's words, a really good color?

2. Have you wondered about something just because you were curious?
   How something works? Why something is the way it is? What would happen if…?

3. Have you explored something recently?
   A trail, a new recipe, a new idea, a different way home, a book, a hobby?

4. Have you responded to something you've noticed?
   Taken a picture, told someone about it, looked it up, written it down, changed something, tried something?

5. Have you ever made something?
   Dinner counts. So does a garden, a spreadsheet, a Lego tower, a doodle, a plan, a playlist, a solution to a problem, or an actual piece of art.

6. Are you human?

Results:
If you answered yes to even a few of these (and especially that last one), congratulations: you're creative.

Because creativity isn't the same thing as being artistic. Creativity is our response to God's world through noticing, wondering, exploring, and making.

does attention really matter?

I firmly believe that our ordinary human lives can glorify God. He created us to live and glorify him, so the ordinary things that are part of our human calling—breathing, sleeping, eating—are not separate from a life that glorifies God. I also believe that our work, play, and rest can glorify God. They are extensions of our human callings, part of God’s vision for his creation that He gave us in the garden. Even people who don’t know God are still his beautiful creations, bearing his image as they live and breathe and work and play and rest.

We have a park and a good sledding hill across the street from us. Sometimes in winter I watch teenagers sled down that hill and laugh and laugh and I know in that moment God is delighted in them. I can feel it as I watch and laugh even just to myself. God is delighted that those teenagers are engaging with his creation in such a free and pure way.

This is why sometimes I tell people to just make art for play or make it ugly on purpose. Just let yourself be, without even thinking, just enjoy yourself! This, too, can be part of a life that glorifies God. We don’t have to turn it into something “spiritual” first.

So why do I talk about “contemplative play” so much, if we don’t have to turn every moment into a spiritual practice?Well, the fact of the matter is, God is so good and so loving that as we live our ordinary lives, He also invites us to know Him and love Him more and more. This is where the contemplative part comes in. If we take a moment in the play, in the work, in the rest, to notice what is going on inside, to surrender to God in that moment, to ask him for help, to praise him, in all of it saying, “this, too, is for you, God,” then we are working on a perspective shift, growing in our inmost lives and fostering a deeper love for Him in everything.

There is so much talk about self-reflection, and that is good and worth doing. But as Christians, our self-reflection should be more focused on Jesus, and as we reflect on Him, He reveals more and more of who we are.

When I was a teenager, I wrote in my journals something like the following:

I’ve noticed that when I am closer to Jesus and keeping my eyes on him, I feel more and more like myself. It doesn’t make sense, but it makes me think that somehow we were created to be more fully ourselves when Jesus is at the center.

I have never forgotten this. This is the point of the contemplative life: keeping Jesus at the center. And He is so good that He, in turn, makes us more and more of our true selves. That is the abundant life that He promises: to live fully as the people He created us to be. This is what I’m talking about when I say where we place our attention matters.

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. (attention, surrender, and the life we have)

So don’t feel guilty when you are happy, or when you are playing, or when you are working and you aren’t always thinking about God. We won’t keep our conscious minds on God all the time, and it isn’t a failing; it is part of being human. (Isn’t this so freeing?) But do take time to do the good spiritual practices, do the examens, schedule spiritual direction, take a moment to make space, do some breath prayers through the day. Not because these practices make the rest of your life more holy, but because they help turn your attention toward the God who is already there. The attention matters because God is good enough to want us to grow in our love for him, and He will help us along the way.

Are you creative? Take this test to find out!

I absolutely adore non-traditional creative endeavors, like this troll made from all-natural materials by Thomas Dambo (finally got to see one in person recently!).

Take this test to find out if you are creative (even if you think you know the answer already!):

1. Have you noticed something lately that made you stop and pay attention?
   A sunset, an interesting building, a funny-shaped mushroom, a song, someone's words, a really good color?

2. Have you wondered about something just because you were curious?
   How something works? Why something is the way it is? What would happen if…?

3. Have you explored something recently?
   A trail, a new recipe, a new idea, a different way home, a book, a hobby?

4. Have you responded to something you've noticed?
   Taken a picture, told someone about it, looked it up, written it down, changed something, tried something?

5. Have you ever made something?
   Dinner counts. So does a garden, a spreadsheet, a Lego tower, a doodle, a plan, a playlist, a solution to a problem, or an actual piece of art.

6. Are you human?

Results:
If you answered yes to even a few of these (and especially that last one), congratulations: you're creative.

Because creativity isn't the same thing as being artistic. Creativity is our response to God's world through noticing, wondering, exploring, and making. It is part of who we are as humans. Maybe it’s time to embrace your creative calling...

Arts and Crafts: a fun way to make space

That’s a wrap on my summer Prayer Craft retreats!

It has been such a joy to use my love of arts and crafts to help people make space for God in their lives. (Seriously, someone pinch me!) And what a good God, that He wants to meet us in the fun and silly things of life, too.

So keep making space for arts and crafts. Let them help you slow down and notice God: His beauty, His goodness, and what He is doing in you. Let yourself sit in His delight in you. Listen for the good and true names He calls you.

There are more retreats to come, including two two-hour retreats this fall. But for now, I’ll leave you with the prayer that ended our time together today:

God, thank you for this little bit of time to play together and with you. Thank you for meeting us in hard things and also in fun things.

Help us carry a little of this spaciousness with us when we leave. And help us keep noticing the small ways you meet us in the middle of our ordinary lives.

Amen.

clearing the table: making space as hospitality

When I think of making space, I think of clearing the table before dinner.

If your house is anything like ours, the dining room table quickly fills up with crafts, homework, tools, or even plates from the night before. It's also the staging area for things we mean to take downstairs, return to someone, or pack for a trip. Somehow, it is always full.

But every evening, before we sit down to eat, we clear it. We put some things where they belong. We move other things aside. Sometimes we simply decide that a project can wait until tomorrow.

We don't clear the table because we just love empty tables (though we do!). We clear it because we're making room for something better. Clearing the table becomes an act of hospitality. We make space so we can rest, share a meal, laugh, listen, and simply be together.

Making space with God feels much the same. Our lives naturally fill up with responsibilities, good opportunities, unfinished projects, worries, and distractions. None of those things are necessarily bad. But every so often, we need to look at the "table" of our lives and ask what really belongs there right now and what can be set aside, even for a little while.

Making space is an act of hospitality. It's making room to notice God's presence. It's making room to receive instead of always producing. It's making room for the people we love, and for our own souls to rest. Making space isn't about creating an empty life. It's about making room for a relationship.

So what is sitting on your table today? What could be put away, moved to the side, or simply left until tomorrow, so there is room to sit with God, even for a few precious minutes?

What actually happens in spiritual direction?

What if you had an hour where no one tried to fix you, but simply helped you notice God?

I often get asked what actually happens in spiritual direction. It’s a wonderful question because spiritual direction is one of those things that’s difficult to explain until you’ve experienced it for yourself.

So instead of trying to capture the whole experience in words, here are a few things that make spiritual direction unique:

1. There’s no advice.

This is often the biggest surprise. My role isn’t to tell you what to do or help you solve a problem. Instead, I help you notice God’s presence in your life and listen more deeply for God's invitation.

2. Everything comes back to your relationship with God.

You can bring anything into spiritual direction, work, relationships, grief, joy, questions, or doubt. Whatever we talk about, we keep asking: Where is God in this? What might God be inviting you to notice?

3. Silence is part of the conversation.

We don't rush to fill every quiet moment. Silence isn't awkward; it's sacred. Together we make room to listen, not just to one another, but to the Holy Spirit.

4. You don't have to perform.

You don't need a polished story, a clear goal, or even the right words. You can come tired, hopeful, confused, joyful, numb, or grieving. You simply bring your honest self.

5. It's slow on purpose.

Our world values quick answers and constant productivity. Spiritual direction invites you to slow down, pay attention, and trust that God often works gently over time.

6. The Holy Spirit is the true director.

I'm not the expert on your relationship with God. I simply walk alongside you, trusting that God is already at work and helping you notice what may already be unfolding.

7. People often leave feeling lighter.

Not because everything has been fixed, but because they've remembered what is true: they are seen, deeply loved, and never alone. Sometimes that reminder changes everything.

Ultimately, spiritual direction isn't about fixing your life or finding all the answers. It's about noticing where God is present, how He may be inviting you to responhow deeply you are loved.

If you've ever been curious about spiritual direction, I'd love to answer your questions. It is one of the gentlest, most life-giving practices I know, and it's a privilege to hold this kind of sacred space with others.

maybe you are creative…

Roughly every month, I share the story of someone who creates and plays as a way of joining God in His creative nature. Sometimes it's an artist. Sometimes it's someone making something with their hands. Other times it's someone finding joy in a hobby or simply paying attention to the world around them.

Then I usually ask people on Instagram how they create and play.

Or I'll share one of my watercolors or a craft I'm working on, and almost without fail, someone responds with the same sentence:

"I wish I were creative." Or some version of that sentiment.

Usually I tell them they probably mean they aren't artistic. Those aren't the same thing. Because truthfully, I believe everyone is creative in some way. (I also happen to think natural talent is a bit overrated. Most people simply become good at the things they enjoy doing and practice over time.)

So last month I decided it was time to introduce a new definition of creativity. Technically, creativity means having the ability to create. But what if we expanded our understanding of what it means to create? What if creativity wasn't only about producing art or making something beautiful? What if it was more about the way we engage with the world?

The more I've thought about it, the more I think creativity is a kind of call and response.

First, we receive.

We notice something that moves us, or a problem that needs solving, or an idea we can't stop thinking about.

Then we respond.

Maybe we paint it. Maybe we build something. Maybe we ask another question. Maybe we plant a garden, bake bread, learn calligraphy, or simply stop long enough to wonder.

Creativity begins with paying attention.

It starts by receiving the world as a gift and responding to it with curiosity, imagination, and care. That's why I don't think creativity is only for artists.

The more I've thought about it, the more I've landed on this definition:

Creativity is our response to God's world through noticing, wondering, exploring, and making.

When we define creativity this way, suddenly so many more people get to participate! Maybe that's what creativity has always been: not creating from nothing (that belongs to God alone) but responding to what He has already made. Maybe creativity isn't reserved for a gifted few. Maybe it's simply part of what it means to be human.

A Simple Examen

As you end your day, spend a few quiet minutes with Jesus.

• Jesus, what did You invite me to notice today?

• What filled me with wonder?

• Where did I explore or discover something new?

• How did I respond to the gifts You placed in front of me?

• What did I make, build, or contribute today?

• Where did I sense Your delight as I created or played?

• What am I most grateful for today?

Perhaps you've been more creative than you realized.

The Tower of Pentecost

The godly play story for Pentecost has some powerful imagery. I used the story a couple weeks ago in Sunday school for 3 boys (it was a light Sunday), two boys age 8, one boy aged 12. The story starts with building blocks (this felt appropriate for 3 boys!) and as I was speaking, I was building a tower. But the tower is a bit precarious!

There was once a great tower. Everyone working on the tower spoke the same language and worked together. But as the tower grew taller and taller, they began to talk in different ways. The tower came close to God, but the people forgot why they were building it. They grew so proud of themselves that they began to think they were greater builders than God. Each group thought it was better than any of the others. They stopped working together.

At this point, I placed the final block. The tower wobbled for a moment and then crashed down with a loud clatter.

Soon the tower fell down, so it was called the “Tower of Babel.” The language of the people of the earth was shattered. It broke into splinters. Each one was beautiful, but it was broken.

The story goes on to talk about Jesus and his disciples and his last days on earth and then his ascension. At the end of the story, when we started to talk about the Holy Spirit coming, I decided to add something to the story! I thought it might be fun to show the tower being built again, only this time, the tower is completely stable. So while I spoke, I built it again:

They were so excited that people wondered what was going on. There were people there from many different countries. They spoke many different languages, but everyone could understand what they were saying. Everyone could see that the Twelve had come close to God—and God had come close to them—in a new way.

During that last sentence, I indicated the strong tower, the idea that God had redeemed Babel and through His Holy God made a new way for us to draw close to him and, through the Spirit, to one another.

At the end, when I asked about their favorite parts, one of the boys (who has spent the year telling me how much he doesn’t like godly play) (ok, it was my son) said:

I liked how the tower was unstable when the people tried to reach God in their own strength, but it was stable and strong when the Holy Spirit gave us a new way to be with God.

My friends, I was blown away, and not just because it was my kid! This is the power of story. If I had said to my son, “God gave us a way to meet with God that is so much better than anything we could do in our human strength” it would have had much less impact. My son didn't just repeat something I had told him. He made a connection for himself. The image of the tower stayed with him long enough for him to notice the contrast between Babel and Pentecost. He discovered the meaning rather than being handed an explanation.

Story gives us room to wonder. It lets us enter the mystery instead of rushing to explain it. Sometimes a falling tower can teach more than a hundred carefully chosen words.

So once again I think maybe this is what Jesus meant when he spoke about becoming like children. Children are often less interested in mastering a lesson than in entering it. They are willing to sit with a story, play with it, notice its patterns, and discover meaning for themselves, even a 12-year-old preteen!

As adults, we can be tempted to rush toward explanations. But the spiritual life often grows through attention rather than certainty. Perhaps this week, think about what story, image, or ordinary object might God be using to get your attention? And what might happen if, instead of trying to figure it out right away, you approached it with the curiosity of a child and simply wondered?

How do you create + play? Interview with Audrey

This interview is a special one because today we get to hear from a teenager who is very special to me. She is someone who has taught me to create just for the fun of it, to play with different mediums, to take chances, and to keep going. I've never seen someone develop a style that is so distinctly her own and then continue to work at it, allowing it to grow and evolve while still remaining uniquely hers.

But beyond all of that, she reminds me of something I am often learning: children have much to teach us about how to play, create, and approach God.

As she shares about drawing favorite characters, trying new artistic mediums, and reconnecting with her inner child through watercolor, we are invited to consider how creating helps us notice who we are, what we love, and the ways God quietly meets us there.

What do you like to create? What brings you back to creating so often?

My favorite way to create is through drawing, especially drawing people, though I really enjoy drawing anything. I've spent years, from the time I was a little kid until now as a 15-year-old, developing my own unique style.

What usually brings me back to creating is a good character. Whether they're from a movie, book, video game, or TV show, I often become attached to a favorite character. The way I express my appreciation for that character is by drawing them.

What happens in you when you're creating? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?

When I'm creating, I notice that I feel content. I don't need to be anything more than I am in those moments. I can simply use the talent I have right now without feeling like I need to improve for myself or anyone else.

Do you ever create in a community? If so, what happens when you are creating with someone else?

I mostly create by myself as a way of expressing my thoughts, but I also take art classes at school. More than anything, those classes have helped bring me out of my comfort zone and encouraged me to try new mediums, subjects, and techniques.

Has creating ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?

I think creating helps me connect with my innermost self more than anything else. My drawings are some of the rawest expressions of who I am. They show my interests, the things I love, and even things I sometimes struggle to understand or control.

One of my favorite parts of creating is connecting with my inner child. When I watercolor, I often feel like a little kid again, simply trying to make a beautiful picture with hands that may not have practiced enough. There's something freeing about that.

If you can imagine Jesus sitting with you while you create, what do you think he is doing, saying, or thinking?

I don't think Jesus necessarily says anything when He's with me. Instead, I think He uses my art to reveal deeper meanings and show me different parts of His grace and beauty.

I also think He's the source of that feeling of contentment I mentioned earlier. He helps me know that I don't need to be anything else in those moments. I can simply be myself.

Creative 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 Audrey, that every time she creates just for love of creating, she would feel your delight in 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?