Ugly Art, Again! From Striving to Receiving

Let’s talk about ugly art again and why it can be an important spiritual practice. By “ugly art,” I mean creating without pressure, control, or concern for polish, art that may never be impressive but is honest, messy, and real.

As Christians, loosening our grip on control and perfection isn’t just emotionally healthy, it’s spiritually essential. Why? Because the Christian life is rooted in grace, not achievement. The gospel tells us we are loved, chosen, and redeemed not because we’ve earned it, but because God is good and merciful. Yet so often, we fall back into striving, trying to prove our worth, manage outcomes, or “get it right” for God.

This is my coloring book and a page I colored. The question on the opposite page feels appropriate: What is God inviting you to notice today?

Control and perfection give us the illusion of safety, but they often keep us from intimacy with God. When we grip too tightly, we block ourselves from receiving. And the life of faith is meant to be received, not controlled.

Jesus invites us to come to Him like children: open-handed, dependent, delighted. He doesn’t say, “Come when you have it all together.” He says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened.” The spiritual life is not a ladder to climb but a gift to receive. It is not about mastering holiness, but abiding in Love.

When we shift from striving to receiving, we begin to live from a place of trust. We start to believe that God is not measuring our performance but longing for our presence. We stop managing our relationship with God and start enjoying it. And that’s where intimacy grows, not in perfection, but in presence.

This is why practicing ugly art matters. It trains us to let go, to resist the need to perfect or prove, and to simply be with God. In Scripture, God consistently shows up in quiet, ordinary places, in the whisper, not the whirlwind (1 Kings 19), in the stillness of the garden, in Jesus simply being with people.

When we slow down enough to be present, we create space to actually receive God’s love, rather than trying to earn it or perform for it. And being present reminds us: we are not just workers in God’s Kingdom, we are His beloved.

If making “ugly art” feels uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it alone. In spiritual direction, I love using art practices as a way to let go of expectations and discover God’s presence in simple, freeing, and even playful ways.

Responding to God’s Beauty: Create + Play

It’s time to move from making space into create and play. This is the rhythm we follow here. First, we pause, making space to sit with God, to reflect, to pray, to simply be in His presence. Then, from that stillness, we step into creating and playing.

So often, people think “create” must mean something artistic: painting, coloring, crafting. But creating is so much more than that! I like to think of it as a response, letting ourselves be moved by God’s beauty and then answering with action. It could be snapping a picture, chopping vegetables, lifting your voice in song, journaling, or dancing.

Sometimes this kind of creating flows naturally. Other times, we need to be intentional, and that’s where play comes in. Play loosens us, opens us, helps us practice noticing beauty. That’s why I share photo prompts, creative prompts, and prayer prompts—little invitations that are both playful and reflective.

Sometimes we are stirred by God’s beauty to create. Other times, we create as a way to train our eyes to notice His beauty more clearly.

So how do you want to play this week?

Making Space: Wordless Prayer

I’ve been taking a little longer with making space this month. September has felt like the right time to pause hereand notice what needs to be cleared away and what needs to be held close. Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about the changing season that makes me want to breathe deeper and make room for God in new ways.

So here’s a simple practice to try:

Sit quietly for a minute with your hands open in front of you, palms up.

• In one hand, imagine placing everything hard, sad, or scary that you’re carrying. Picture loading that hand up with anything heavy on your heart.

• In the other hand, imagine holding everything you love—anything beautiful, fun, silly, or sacred that brings joy.

Then slowly lift your hands up, offering them to God.

You don’t even need words. The gesture itself becomes a prayer, an embodied way of saying: “I can’t hold all of this on my own. Please carry it for me.” and “Thank You for all this beauty and for being a God who gives good gifts.”

Sometimes, making space means letting go of so many words and simply being with God in a quieter way.

Try It with Kids

This hand-prayer works beautifully with children, too. You can guide them like this:

• Hold out both hands in front of you, palms up.

• In one hand, pretend to put anything that makes you feel sad, worried, or scared. You can “drop” it in your hand like a stone.

• In the other hand, pretend to put things you love: something beautiful, fun, or silly that makes you happy. You can “pick up” these good things and place them in your hand like treasures.

After a moment, lift up both hands together. Tell God, “Here are the hard things. Please hold them for me. Here are the good things. Thank You for giving them to me.”

If children don’t want to use words, that’s okay. The simple action of lifting their hands is a prayer all by itself.

Learning to See Through God’s Eyes

Several years ago, I chose three words to shape the way I wanted to see the world: beauty, freedom, and abundance. They’re still words I come back to often. I don’t always live them out perfectly, but they continue to be a guide for me, a way of framing how I want to look at my life, my relationships, and the world around me.

The truth is, I don’t always see through that frame naturally. Most days I need the reminder to slow down, make space, and ask God to help me see differently. Left to myself, I get distracted, or I focus on what feels heavy or frustrating. But when I pause and pray, even a simple, quiet “Lord, help me see what You see”, it opens my eyes to what’s already there.

Scripture reminds us that God is the source of all three:

• “One thing I ask from the Lord… to gaze on the beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.” (Psalm 27:4)

• “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” (Galatians 5:1)

• “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)

Making space for this kind of noticing doesn’t have to be complicated. It can be as simple as:

• Looking out the window for a few minutes and asking, Where is the beauty here?

• Taking a walk and asking, What freedom is God inviting me into today?

• Sitting at the table and asking, What abundance am I overlooking today?

A Making Space Practice

This week, take five minutes each day to pause and ask God to show you beauty, freedom, and abundance in an ordinary place. Write down what you notice, or share it with someone else. Over time, these small moments of noticing can gently shift the way we see our lives and help us point others toward the goodness of God at work all around us.

An examen for the end of summer

The examen is a simple way of prayerful reflection—remembering, noticing, and receiving God’s grace in the ordinary. As summer comes to a close, take time to pause and look back over these months with God.

Remember

• What moments from this summer stand out most vividly to me?

• Where did I feel most alive, most myself?

• Where did I feel God’s nearness?

Give Thanks

• What gifts did summer hold for me, big or small?

• Who am I especially grateful for this season?

• How did play, rest, or joy find me?

Notice

• Where did I feel weary, restless, or distracted?

• Where did I sense God’s absence—or my own distance from God?

• What have these moments taught me about myself?

Look Forward

• What do I want to carry with me from summer into fall?

• What might God be inviting me to let go of?

• What blessing, prayer, or grace do I need for this next season?

Close
Rest for a moment in God’s love. Imagine God’s blessing resting on you as you step forward into what comes next.

When Rest Feels Hard

Lately, rest has been feeling harder than I think it should. I sit down to nap, to read, or even to pray, and instead of stillness I feel anxious, fidgety, or distracted. Escapism often comes easier—TV, scrolling on my phone—but that doesn’t leave me feeling truly refreshed.

What I’ve been noticing, though, is that play can be a pathway into rest, one that feels more accessible. I used to think of rest and play as opposites. But really, play is a kind of rest. There are so many ways to rest, and when the traditional ones (the ones that require keeping my body still) don’t work, play is often an easier way to enter. When I paint, color, doodle, or take a slow walk outside, my body and mind relax in ways they don’t when I try to force myself into “being still.”

And here’s something important: the kind of rest that truly quiets our bodies takes practice. It doesn’t always come naturally. Some seasons of life make it harder than others. That doesn’t mean we’re failing at rest, it just means we might need gentler doorways in.

Not every kind of play is equally restful. Some is active or noisy, which is good and refreshing in its own way! But other kinds of play are gentler. I call this contemplative play: the kind of play that refreshes the body, softens the heart, and brings the mind into a quieter rhythm.

Here are some of my favorite ways to practice contemplative play:

• Watercoloring

• Journaling (especially in my coloring journal)

• Digital art (lately I’ve been playing with the idea of making stickers)

• Swinging in the hammock

• Sitting in the grass with the dogs and letting them tumble around me

• Playing fetch with the dogs

• Listening to audiobooks (often while doing one of the above)

After these kinds of play, I try to pause and notice what I’m feeling. Often the first feeling that surfaces isn’t the truest one. (Once I sit with it for a few minutes, I usually realize I’m just sad about a lot of things.) Then I gather up all those feelings and lift them to God with a simple prayer: “God, I don’t know what to do with all of this. Will you hold it for me?”

This month, I’m remembering that rest isn’t only stillness. Sometimes the most restful thing is to follow the thread of play until I arrive at the calm I was seeking all along.

Practice Invitation
Think about the kinds of play that feel restful for you. Try one this week, like coloring, baking, daydreaming, humming, swinging in a hammock. As you do, notice how your body and spirit shift. Then, take a moment to name what you’re feeling and lift it up to the Lord.

The Hidden, Blessed, and Sacred Work of Children’s Ministry

Yesterday I had to lead a meeting with our Sunday school volunteers and honestly, I wasn’t really feeling it going in. As the date of the meeting crept closer, I noticed a little bitterness rising inside about children’s ministry, which is very unusual for me! I knew God would meet me in the meeting and in my words, but I wanted to be able to stand in front of our volunteers and speak authentically about how much I love them and love this ministry. So, I reached out to a few close friends and asked them to pray.

And of course, God showed up. As I sang during worship, listened to the sermon, and came forward for communion, my heart shifted. I felt His joy rising in me again, even while I carried my sadness, fear, anxiety, even my bitterness to Him. By the time I stood before our volunteers, I was able to share from a place of honesty about the work, the struggle, and the beauty of what we do together.

Here are some of the things I tried to put into words:

Children’s ministry is hidden.

A friend of mine gave me this word recently about this ministry, and it stuck with me. Children’s ministry doesn’t usually get the spotlight. We’re not up front, we’re not getting applause. In fact, most of the time it feels pretty thankless.

Part of my job is to make sure our volunteers feel seen and valued, but I also reminded them that there’s something holy about the hiddenness itself. In God’s upside-down kingdom, the hidden jobs are the important ones. When the kids aren’t listening, when you’re tired and sweaty, when no one says “thank you” — God sees. And He delights in you.

Children’s ministry is a blessing to us.

We also read together from Matthew 19:14: “Let the little children come to me…”

The truth is, we don’t just serve the kids, we also receive from them. Their honesty, their joy, their questions, even their struggles — they all bless us. Week after week, these little ones show us what humility, trust, and openness to God look like.

Children’s ministry isn’t just about helping kids grow in their faith; it’s about us growing, too. We get to see, right in front of us, the kind of childlike faith Jesus said was the model for His kingdom. Serving in this way is not just a responsibility, it’s a blessing.

Children’s ministry is sacred.

One of the holiest truths about this work is that we are not only telling kids about Jesus, but we are also we are creating spaces where they can encounter Him for themselves. That happens through relationships, through the way we listen, through play, through stories, and through the wonder we make space for. And once you truly encounter Jesus, you are never the same.

When a child feels loved and seen by us, they are experiencing the love and welcome of Jesus. When we invite them to wonder about God’s story, they are encountering His presence in real and lasting ways. This is sacred work, holy ground where God meets His children through the simple faithfulness of His people.

Children’s ministry may not always feel glamorous, but it is holy. It’s hidden, yes, but hidden in the way seeds are hidden before they grow. It’s a blessing to us, because we are shaped by the very ones Jesus told us to learn from. And it’s sacred, because here children encounter the love of Jesus through us, and we encounter Him through them.

So if you ever find yourself tired or discouraged in this work (like I did this week), remember: God sees you. And through you, Jesus is making Himself known.

Sacred Story time: Behind the Scenes

Creating the Sacred Storytime prompts is one of my very favorite parts of what I’ve been doing. They do take a lot of time, though, so last month I shared in my Instagram stories a bit about the process and the heart behind them. In case you missed it, here’s a look at how they come together and why I love making them.

First, I pull the next section of text from Project Gutenberg, a free e-book site that houses many beloved classics in the public domain. Right now, we’re making our way through Winnie-the-Pooh (for reasons I’ll share another time!). I read through the passage carefully and then create three prompts and a prayer to go along with it.

The first prompt is what I call the Noticing Prompt. This is at the heart of what I mean when I talk about using children’s stories for contemplative play. It’s the simple act of reading a sweet story and letting it stir something inside us. The prompts are there to guide you, but honestly, you can do this without them too! My hope is that as you read (or listen, through the Instagram reels), you’ll pause to notice what’s happening in your heart. Afterward, take a moment to offer that noticing to God in prayer. That prayer piece is essential; it shifts our focus from ourselves back to Him. I usually provide a simple prayer you can use, or you’re always welcome to pray your own.

The second and third prompts are a bit more playful. These are things you can do on your own, with a friend, or with a child—something lighthearted, creative, and intentional. Even when they seem silly, they often spark meaningful reflection too.

And then comes the prayer, which may look like an afterthought, but really it’s the center of the whole practice. Reflection is valuable, but the goal isn’t just self-awareness. It’s connection with God. The prayer is our chance to lift up our hearts, remember who He is, and invite His help and presence into what we’ve noticed.

Once the prompts and prayer are finished, I choose an image from the original book to turn into a coloring page (always available as a free PDF in the blog post). Then, I paint a watercolor version of the same page. That watercolor becomes the backdrop for the Instagram reel. I bring it into Canva to add text, then into LumaFusion where I record the voiceover. My goal is always for the reels to feel like you’re being read to as a child—gentle, cozy, and full of wonder.

It’s a fair amount of work, but I truly love it. And I’m dreaming bigger: eventually, I’d love to gather a whole story, with prompts, prayers, and coloring pages, into a printed booklet you can hold in your hands. Something you could take with you, write in, color in, and share with a child or a friend.

Thank you so much for being part of this journey with me. It means the world.

Sacred Playtime

Each month in our rhythm, we move from Make Space into Create + Play.

Make Space is about clearing the noise and slowing our pace so we can be present to God. Create + Play takes that presence and gives it room to stretch and move through our hands, imaginations, and senses.

This isn’t “creative time” in the usual sense, it’s not about producing something beautiful or impressive. It’s about entering into contemplative play: a way of being with God that engages curiosity, creativity, and presence. It’s a posture of wonder that says, “I am here, God, and I am listening,” even when our hands are busy and our minds are open.

It might look like coloring slowly, not to fill the page but to be present to your breath. It might look like walking through your neighborhood and wondering about the stories behind the trees or houses as a prayer. It might look like arranging scraps of paper or string on your table, not for a finished piece, but to explore what your hands are drawn to today.

Contemplative play helps us loosen our grip on control and perfection. It shifts our posture from striving to receiving. In this playful, spacious presence, we become like children again, which is exactly how Jesus invites us to approach the Kingdom.

It helps us grow in intimacy with God because it slows us down enough to notice God noticing us. It makes room to hear God’s voice not just in Scripture or prayer, but in color, movement, silence, texture, and breath. It helps us be with God, not just talk about God.

If you find yourself longing for more of this gentle, spacious presence, I’d love to walk alongside you. In spiritual direction, we make room together to notice God’s invitations, pay attention to your unique story, and explore how God might be speaking through your creativity, questions, and play.

Lift Up Your Head: Noticing as a Spiritual Practice

Every month, we begin by making space and I try to offer some prompts to help us do just that. Last month, many of those prompts invited us to notice. But why is it important to make space? And why bother noticing, especially when what we’re noticing seems so small or even silly?

Making space, slowing down, noticing—it’s all about giving God room to move in our lives. Remember Elijah hearing God in the whisper? (I Kings 19:11-13) The thunder and storms that came before were loud, powerful, dramatic. But God wasn’t in them. It was the stillness where he could finally hear. The same is true for us. The thunder and storms are the busyness of our lives. Slowing down helps us hear the whisper.*

Often, I pray for “eyes to see” what’s really there, but that kind of seeing takes intention. It takes slowing down. It takes a shift in perspective.

Three years ago, I wrote a blog post about this very thing: about how I was trying to move away from just pushing through the hard moments in my day. Because I really don’t believe that’s what God wants for us. Every moment is a gift, and I don’t want to squander them by merely surviving.

With the help of my spiritual director, I came up with a breath prayer for those moments:

Inhale: Lord, lift up my head
Exhale: To see your beauty

This, my friends, is an act of surrender. It’s saying: “I have nothing, but you give me everything. Help me see it.” And in that surrender, I have been surprised by the freedom I’ve found. I've begun to see more of the beauty around me, more of the abundant life He promises.

Taking that breath often requires a literal shift in posture: I have to lift up my head. But it’s also a metaphorical shift. I am choosing to change how I approach the moment. I am asking for eyes to see, even in the middle of the mess.

That’s what I’m inviting you into. Doing things that feel purposeless (making “ugly” art, noticing silly things) isn’t wasted time. It’s sacred time. It’s a way of slowing down, of receiving.

And somehow, taking time when it feels like there isn’t any actually multiplies time. This is God’s economy at work. This is abundance.

*And this is what spiritual direction is for! If this practice feels hard or foreign to you, I encourage you to give spiritual direction a try.

How the Incarnation and Sabbath Root Us in God’s Joy

A few days ago, I shared why I care so deeply about noticing, rest, creative play, and even coloring pages that help you slow down. We live in a world that is heavy with grief, stress, and noise. When Jesus says He came to give us life, and life abundantly(John 10:10), I believe that rest and play, especially contemplative, gentle play, are ways we begin to live that kind of life, even now.

When we make space, practice presence, play with reflection, and create with joy, we grow in intimacy with God. These small practices are not about escaping life, but becoming more fully alive to it with Him!

But I want to take this one step further, because there are two deep theological truths that make all of this not just comforting but profoundly Christian: the Incarnation and Sabbath.

The Incarnation, the mystery of God becoming human in Jesus, is the foundation of why noticing and play matter. In Jesus, God took on a body, lived in time and space, experienced touch, sound, story, community, and even delight.

“The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:14)

This means that God doesn’t ask us to meet Him only in serious thoughts, but He also meets us in the stuff of everyday life. He affirms that physical things can carry grace. When we slow down and pay attention to the ordinary, we’re not being “less spiritual.” We’re stepping into the heart of the Gospel: that God is with us, not just above us. That God loves us in our ordinary and small humanity, not despite it.

If the Incarnation shows us that God enters our ordinary world, Sabbath teaches us how to live in that world with joy, trust, and peace. Sabbath isn’t just a day off or a break from work, but a way of remembering who we are and who God is. It’s a practice of ceasing, resting, delighting, and trusting.

“On the seventh day God rested from all His work.” (Genesis 2:2)

“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” (Mark 2:27)

When we play, rest, notice beauty, or create something just for the joy of it, we’re participating in that same rhythm, a holy resistance to the lie that our worth comes from productivity. But we are not machines. We are beloved children of God.

And Sabbath is how we remember that.

To notice, to rest, to play with gentle presence… these are not soft distractions from “real faith.” They are expressions of real faith. Because the Incarnation tells us that God meets us in the ordinary and Sabbath teaches us to live in joyful, trusting rhythm with Him.

So if you find yourself weary, or wondering if these small practices matter, remember:
They are sacred.
They are grounded in the life of Jesus.
And they lead us into the abundance He promised.

Art as Prayer, Presence, and Play

Making art, even "ugly" art, for its own sake can be a profound act of intimacy with God. It invites us into the posture of being rather than doing, receiving rather than producing. In a world that prizes usefulness and polish, creating freely without concern for outcome mirrors the childlike trust that Jesus praises, the kind of trust that simply delights in the presence of the Father.

Not because the art is impressive or useful, but because the act of creating draws us into presence. It slows us down and invites us to notice what we feel, what stirs inside us, and what we otherwise might be tempted to rush past. In the quiet of making, we make space. And that is the space we can find God already waiting.

Creative prompts, like the ones I love to share, aren't about performance. They're a way of practicing presence. A way of saying, “Here I am, Lord, in all my imperfections.”

When we make art without judgment, we say: “I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to play. I am allowed to express what’s inside, messy or not.” That kind of honest expression is a type of prayer, not a polished liturgy or even an extemporaneous prayer full of big words, but a groan, a laugh, a whisper. And that prayer invites God in to the very real life we are already living.

In Scripture, we see God as Creator, not just of majestic mountains and galaxies, but also of dust and mud. And God has invited us into that work and when we do so without self-protection or pretense, we open ourselves to encounter with Him. The art may be “ugly,” but the moment is beautiful.

And maybe, when we let go of trying to make something “good,” we become free enough to simply be with God, like a child bringing a crayon drawing to a parent, not for approval, but for connection.

This is what contemplative play is all about. Noticing. Being present. Making space. Trusting that God meets us in the making.

Noticing, Contemplative Play, and the Abundant Life

If you’ve ever wondered why I keep talking about noticing, rest, creative play, or coloring pages that help you slow down… well, sometimes I wonder too. Life can feel so heavy, and these small practices can seem almost too gentle for the weight of it all. But it’s in those moments, when the grief, stress, and noise press in, that I realize how much I need them.

This world can be so sad, and we all carry burdens. So when Jesus says He came to give us life, and life abundantly (John 10:10), I find myself asking: How do we live that kind of life right here, right now, in the middle of all this?

I believe that rest and play are one of the ways we begin.

I talk a lot about making space, noticing, playing contemplatively (which really just means playing with some gentle noticing), and creating because they are tools that help us grow in intimacy and in love with God.

God invites us to join Him in rest, in play, and in creating, not because He needs anything from us, but because He loves us, and He knows we need those things.

Everything I’ve been sharing here (on Instagram, on my blog, in printables, and prompts) is meant to be a gentle help. A way to take one small step into a slower, more spacious life with God.

Noticing: Attention as a Form of Prayer

To notice is to pay attention with love. And that kind of loving attention is all over the Bible.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

When we slow down and notice, whether it’s the beauty of nature, the sound of a child’s laughter, or the ache in our own chest, we begin to recognize God’s presence with us. This kind of awareness is a form of prayer.

Like Mary at Jesus’ feet (Luke 10:39–42), we choose what is better by simply being present with Him.

“When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers… what is man that you are mindful of him?” — Psalm 8:3–4

This kind of noticing connects with a sacramental view of life: where ordinary things become windows into the holy.

Contemplative Play: Joy as a Spiritual Practice

Contemplative play is not childish. It’s childlike. (Remember that contemplative play just playing with some gentle noticing.)

“Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” — Matthew 18:3

To play is to trust, to risk delight, to rest in the truth that we are beloved, even if we’re not producing anything. This is the opposite of what the world tells us, that we must be productive to be of value. But that is not the way of the Kingdom.

And just like Sabbath, play is not extra, it’s essential.

“You shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing.” — Isaiah 55:12

The Abundant Life: Receiving, Not Striving

Jesus says:

“I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)

But abundance in God’s kingdom isn’t about more stuff, more hustle, or even more productivity. It’s about more presence. It’s about living from a deep well of love and trust and grace.

In noticing, we become aware of God’s nearness.
In play, we live into our identity as God’s beloved children.
In creating, we join Him in His holy work.

“In Him we live and move and have our being.” — Acts 17:28

A Final Invitation

If you’re feeling tired, rushed, or heavy-hearted, consider this your invitation to step into a more spacious way of being.

You don’t have to fix your whole life. You don’t need to have a perfect quiet time. Try just taking one small step: notice something beautiful, play a little with gentle curiosity, or create something just for the joy of it.

These are sacred things and God will meet you there. This is part of how we begin to live a life of abundance.

Make Space: Practicing the Art of Noticing

Every month, we begin by making space. This month, we’ll do that by slowing down enough to truly notice—to pay attention, with gentleness and curiosity, to the world around us and the life within us.

Looking back, I think my journey into mindfulness and practicing the presence of God began even before I started my spiritual direction training with Selah. One of the unexpected turning points for me was reading Rob Walker’s book The Art of Noticing. (I loved it so much I wrote about it in three different blog posts!) Something about it cracked open a new way of seeing.

Walker’s central message is simple but transformative: Attention is not just a resource. It’s the gateway to creativity, connection, joy, even worship. So many of the stories he shares are about people who chose to notice something and then began collecting or curating it in fun, creative, even reverent ways. What a delight that is! To turn your gaze toward something ordinary and find it shimmering with meaning.

As he puts it:

“Every day is filled with opportunities to be amazed, surprised, enthralled—to experience the enchanting everyday. To stay eager. To be, in a word, alive.”
“What we do with our attention, in short, is at the heart of what makes us human.”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

So, this month, as we begin by making space, I invite you to take time to notice just a little more than usual. Notice with your body, your senses, your spirit. Below is a gentle list of noticing prompts to get you started. You don’t need to do them all. You don’t need to do anything, really. Just let one or two invite you back to presence.

Noticing Prompts

• What do you hear right now, if you listen very closely?

• What color is the light where you are?

• Can you feel the air on your skin? Is it warm, cool, still, or moving?

• What’s the tiniest thing you can see from where you’re sitting?

• Notice one thing that feels soft near you. What makes it soft?

• What shapes do you see in the shadows?

• Can you find something that’s moving very slowly?

• What do your feet feel like right now?

• What’s a smell in the air you hadn’t noticed until now?

• Look around—what’s something nearby that makes you feel calm?

• Can you hear your own breath? What does it sound like?

• Notice something you’ve seen a hundred times... as if it’s brand new.

• What color is the quiet today?

• What’s something outside that’s holding still? What’s moving?

If you tried one of these, how did it feel?
Did time seem to move differently?
Did you?

As always, there’s no pressure, just an invitation to make a little space for wonder. Let noticing be its own kind of prayer.

Kid-Friendly Idea: Make a Noticing Adventure!

If you have kids in your life, this can be a beautiful practice to do together. Turn it into a “Noticing Walk” around the block or a “Five Senses Treasure Hunt” in your own living room. You might ask:

• What’s the silliest sound you can hear right now?

• Can you spot a shape that looks like a letter or animal?

• What’s something you’ve never noticed on your way to the car?

• Can you find one thing to sniff, one thing to touch, and one thing that moves?

Let them collect “noticings” like treasures, draw them, or make up stories about them. There’s no wrong way to pay attention—and often, kids are the best teachers of this kind of wonder.

An Examen for Kids: Talking to God about Your Day

This is a quiet time to talk with God about your day. You can close your eyes, or draw while you listen, or just be still. Let’s just notice what happened today together.

Who or what are you thankful for today?
Let’s thank God together!

What brought you joy today?
Did you dance with a friend until you fell down laughing?
Did you sing a silly song about turtles wearing pants?
Did you laugh at a joke your friend told you at recess?
God is joyful with you.

What made you sad today?
Did you stub your toe on an open door?
Did your friend say something that hurt your feelings?
Did you have to say a hard goodbye?
God is sad with you.

What excited you today?
Did you learn something new about something you love?
Did your teacher tell you that you did a great job in school?
Did you get a new pair of sneakers?
God is excited with you.

What scared you today?
Did you have a bad dream that made you scared?
Did you have to answer a hard question in front of the whole class?
Did a dog bark and scare you when you weren’t expecting it?
God is here to comfort you.

What made you angry today?
Did you get in a fight with a friend?
Did you get an answer wrong that you thought was right?
Did someone take your favorite toy?
God is big enough to hold your anger for you.

Where did you notice God today?
Did you see something beautiful in creation?
Did someone comfort you when you cried?
Did you share a snack with someone who didn’t have one?
God is with you every moment.

What do you hope for tomorrow?
Let’s tell God your hopes together.

*My house has only preteen+ at this point, so we have shortened this to just “high/lows” (and sometimes we include “buffalos” - just something funny/random) at dinner time. It’s a way to be engaged in noticing with each other. We even have a special high/low dance, which we are assured is very “cringe”.

sacred story time (befriend a bear)

Last time, we began our journey with Pooh under a tree, listening and wondering. This week, we find him climbing that tree in search of honey, singing little songs, thinking funny thoughts, and eventually taking quite the tumble.

As we read this week’s passage, I hope you’ll let it stir both your gratitude and your grumbles, your imagination and your need for comfort. Come play, pray, and wonder with me.

Pooh climbed and he climbed and he climbed, and as he climbed he sang a little song to himself. It went like this:

Isn't it funny
How a bear likes honey?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
I wonder why he does?

Then he climbed a little further ... and a little further ... and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song.

It's a very funny thought that, if Bears were Bees,
They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.
And that being so (if the Bees were Bears),
We shouldn't have to climb up all these stairs.

He was getting rather tired by this time, so that is why he sang a Complaining Song. He was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that branch ...

Crack!

"Oh, help!" said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.

"If only I hadn't——" he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next branch.

"You see, what I meant to do," he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed on to another branch thirty feet below, "what I meant to do——"

"Of course, it was rather——" he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.

"It all comes, I suppose," he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, "it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!"

He crawled out of the gorse-bush, brushed the prickles from his nose, and began to think again. And the first person he thought of was Christopher Robin.

Noticing prompt

Who is the first person you think of when you are in trouble? What is it about that person that brings them to mind? Are they helpful? Kind? Comforting? Are you the kind of person that people seek out for help?

Play prompt

Try writing a gratefulness haiku and a complaining haiku (5-7-5 syllable structure). Notice the feelings that each provoke as you write. Here’s my example (I’m not sure if it’s complaining or gratitude! Maybe a little of both!):

Green leaves with bird poop
Out my window as I write.
That means birds were here.

Imagination prompt

What would it be like to be a bear in the town where you live? What would bring you joy? What would be frustrating? Imagine befriending a bear. Where would you go? What would you do together?

Prayer

Welcoming God, help me to take all my feelings to you, whether gratefulness or frustrations. Thank you for always inviting me, even in my unpleasant moments! Thank you for being someone I can go to for help with anything.

Download a PDF of this content for a Winnie-the-Pooh coloring page!

The Voice That Offers Freedom

I chose this image because when I look at those stingrays, I think they look so free and happy.

In spiritual direction, I’ve learned to listen closely for one particular sign of the Holy Spirit: anything that offers more freedom.

Not just a fleeting sense of relief, but like a deep breath after holding it too long. Like shoulders dropping as the weight you’ve been carrying finally slips off. Like space in your chest where anxiety used to live. Like permission to be fully yourself without apology.

It feels like stepping out into a spacious field, with room to run and realizing this is where you were meant to be all along.

Freedom doesn’t always come with fireworks or fanfare. Sometimes it’s as quiet as peace, as simple as clarity, and as holy as rest. It often shows up when you choose love over fear, when you stop trying to earn your worth, when you say no to something that once had power over you.

When the Spirit is present, freedom often follows. Not necessarily ease, but lightness.

"Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." —2 Corinthians 3:17
Freedom is one of the primary marks of the Spirit’s presence. When God is near, there’s less fear, less shame, less pressure to perform and more room to live fully and truthfully.

Isn’t it amazing that this is one way we can know the voice of Jesus? He is always offering more freedom, more grace, more rest for the weary soul. He said, “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36). Jesus doesn’t coerce, He calls us out of our stuck places and invites us into healing, trust, and lightness of heart.

And yet, if we’re honest, we often sit comfortably in our own enslavement. Just like the Israelites who longed for Egypt when the wilderness felt too uncertain, we cling to what’s familiar, even if it binds us. We resist change. We fear the wide-open spaces of real freedom.

But Jesus keeps calling. He keeps speaking and tugging at our hearts. He keeps inviting us into the kind of life where we are no longer driven by fear, but led by love.

So the next time you’re discerning, ask yourself: Does this bring more freedom?

If the answer is yes, you just might be hearing the voice of God.

All the ways you can bloom

I continue to think about blooming, which shouldn’t be surprising given the current stage our beautiful wildflower garden (see photo). In my last post, I talked about how you can bloom through rest and play, which I think is my preferred method of blooming. And of course, when we think of blooming, we usually imagine sunlight and stillness, soft petals and spring. And yes, some blooming does happen that way: in moments of rest, joy, or playful creativity, when our hearts feel light and our calendars finally give us room to breathe.

But it occurred to me that we can also bloom through other things as well, including expressed sorrow (grief/lament) because it keeps our hearts soft (we may not usually think of this as blooming!). Because blooming may not always be the beautiful spring flowers kind of blooming. It’s not always pretty. It’s not always peaceful. And it’s never one-size-fits-all.

To bloom is to unfold more fully into who you already are. It’s the process of becoming and that journey can begin in all kinds of soil.

So here are just a few of the ways its possible to bloom, if we allow blooming to happen:

When you stop hustling for your worth. When you let go of productivity as identity. When your soul finally exhales and finds enoughness in simply being.

When you step into delight. When you create without a goal. When wonder is welcome and joy isn’t postponed.

When loss breaks you open. When you feel the ache and still choose to stay soft. When tears water something deep underground.

When you learn resilience by living it. When hard seasons refine you rather than define you. When growth feels more like grit than grace.

When you’re seen and held without needing to perform. When love lets you lower your guard and come home to yourself.

When something beautiful flows through you. When you co-create with God. When you feel most alive in the work your soul was made to do.

When pouring yourself out connects you to something bigger. When giving isn’t draining, but deeply aligning.

When shame starts to loosen its grip. When old wounds begin to close. When you reclaim parts of yourself that were buried or silenced.

No matter the path, one thing is always true: Blooming happens when it’s safe to unfold.

And that’s exactly what spiritual direction offers.

It’s not about giving you answers or fixing you. It’s about creating sacred space to notice what’s already stirring. A place to pause and listen. To name your truth and be met with compassion. To explore joy, pain, doubt, and wonder without judgment.

In spiritual direction, there’s no pressure to be in a certain season. You can be in full bloom or lying fallow. Grieving or creating. Wrestling or resting.

Your whole self is welcome.

The director doesn’t point to a path and say, “Go bloom.” We walk beside you, gently noticing where the light is already reaching in. We remind you that blooming doesn’t mean forcing. It means becoming. And that becoming takes many beautiful forms.

You can bloom through rest.
You can bloom through struggle.
You can even bloom in the dark.

And wherever you are in that process, there’s space for you here.