Creative Prompt: Paint a Rainbow
I wonder what promise you need to remember?
Rainbows are one of the first symbols many of us learn to recognize. They show up in children’s books and skies after storms, in crayon drawings and old stories passed down through generations.
A rainbow doesn’t erase the storm. It appears afterwards as a reminder. Today’s creative practice invites you to paint a rainbow, not as decoration, but as an act of remembering.
Remembering is a spiritual practice. Not remembering facts but remembering truth when it’s easy to forget. A rainbow reminds us that storms don’t last forever, beauty can follow difficulty, and promises are often quieter than we expect. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is look back and say, I’ve seen goodness before.
Paint a rainbow on your page.
It can be:
traditional or unexpected
bold or barely-there
perfectly arched or uneven and wandering
You can paint every color clearly, or let them blend and bleed into one another. There is no correct version.
As you paint, hold this gentle wondering: What promise do you need to remember right now?
Watercolor Option
Lightly sketch an arc if you want or begin directly with paint.
Paint one color at a time, moving slowly across the page.
Allow colors to touch, soften, or blur.
Pause between colors if you need to.
You don’t have to fill the page. A single arc is enough.
Colored Pencil or Crayon Option
Draw a rainbow using crayons or colored pencils, or use this coloring page.
Press firmly in some places and lightly in others.
You can repeat colors, skip some, or invent new ones.
Let your hand choose what comes next.
Wondering Questions
You might hold one or two of these gently while you work or afterward.
I wonder what promises have carried me before?
I wonder which promises feel hard to trust right now?
I wonder what it feels like to remember instead of strive?
I wonder where hope shows up quietly in my life?
I wonder if the promise comes after the storm, not instead of it?
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to paint or draw a rainbow in any way they like.
You can wonder together:
What do rainbows make you think of?
When do rainbows usually appear?
What is something good you hope for?
You don’t need to explain the promise. Let imagination lead.
A Closing Invitation
When you’re finished, sit with your page for a moment.
Which colors stand out?
Which feel gentle or strong?
You might carry this wondering with you: What promise wants to be remembered today?
Let the rainbow hold it for you even if the answer is still forming.
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
Making Space When It Feels Hard
We talk a lot about making space for God as if it’s a simple, quiet thing we can just decide to do.
But for many of us, making space alone is actually one of the hardest parts of the spiritual life.
Distractions pile up. Noise fills the room (and our heads). Productivity values whisper that we should be doing something useful instead. Anxiety hums in the background, making stillness feel unsafe or impossible. Even prayer itself can feel like one more task we’re failing to do “right.”
So we tell ourselves we’ll try again tomorrow. Or when life is calmer. Or when we’re less tired. Or when we feel more spiritual.
And the space never quite opens.
You’re Not Broken; You’re Human
If sitting alone with God feels hard, that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong. It means you’re human.
We are formed by a world that rewards speed, output, and constant engagement. Of course silence feels awkward. Of course listening feels unfamiliar. Of course prayer sometimes feels inaccessible.
God knows this about us.
Which is one of the reasons spiritual direction has existed in the Church for centuries.
Why Spiritual Direction Helps Us Make Space
Spiritual direction isn’t about fixing your prayer life or achieving spiritual goals. At its heart, it’s simply about making space—intentionally, gently, and with support.
When you make an appointment for spiritual direction, you are doing something powerful:
You are setting aside real time to be with God.
You are allowing someone else to hold the container so you don’t have to.
You are giving yourself permission to slow down, notice, and listen.
You don’t have to arrive calm. You don’t have to know what to say. You don’t even have to feel particularly prayerful.
The space itself does the work.
Together, we pay attention to where God is already present in your life, often in places you might overlook on your own.
Making Space in Gentle, Creative Ways
For some people, silence and words are enough. For others, they aren’t.
That’s why spiritual direction doesn’t have to look only one way.
In my work, I’m open to incorporating creative practices (simple art-making, reflective prompts, embodied practices) as well as reading and wondering together with children’s books.
Stories have a way of bypassing our defenses. Images can speak when words feel thin. Creative practices can open doors that effort alone cannot.
None of this replaces prayer. It is prayer, just offered in forms that meet us where we are.
An Invitation
If you’ve been longing for space with God but finding it hard to make on your own, spiritual direction may be a gift to receive, not a task to add.
I am trained and available for ongoing spiritual direction, and I welcome sessions that include creativity, story, and gentle exploration alongside conversation and prayer.
You don’t have to figure this out alone.
If you feel a quiet nudge of curiosity or desire, I’d love to talk with you about what spiritual direction could look like for you.
Questions for Intentional Living
Usually at the end of the month, I will post some type of examen: a way of looking back to notice God and what He has been saying. But this month, since we are still close to the start of the year, I’d like to post a gentle, forward-looking reflection. It’s not about resolutions, or figuring things out, or setting intentions to keep. It’s simply a way of noticing how you might want to move more intentionally through your days, attentive to God’s quiet invitations.
Read the questions slowly. You don’t need to answer all of them. Just notice which one or two stands out and sit with those for a few minutes, whether in silence, in a journal, or while doing a creative exercise.
There is nothing to complete here, only something to pay attention to.
Creativity
What kind of making feels possible for me right now?
What would it be like to create without rushing or proving anything?
Rest
What actually helps me rest in this season of my life?
Where am I longing for more space, slowness, or gentleness?
Play
What brings lightness or quiet delight?
When do I feel most like myself?
Attention
What do I want to give my care and attention to right now?
Who am I being invited to show up for more intentionally?
How am I being invited to love God, love others, and receive love in the way of Jesus in this season?
Letting Go
What am I ready to hold more lightly?
What might I gently set down as I move into the days ahead?
God, help us notice the life you are inviting us into, the abundant life Christ speaks of, shaped by creativity, rest, and play.
Sacred Story Time: Last Stop on Market Street
I absolutely love Last Stop on Market Street by Matt de la Peña, illustrated by Christian Robinson. It’s the story of CJ and his grandmother riding the bus together on a Sunday afternoon. We don’t know where they’re going until the very end (and it’s a tender, meaningful surprise, so I won’t spoil it), but most of the book lives in the in-between: the ride itself, the people they encounter, the ordinary moments that make up a shared journey.
Along the way, CJ asks honest questions—the kind that come from paying attention. Why don’t they have a car? Why doesn’t their stop look like the others? Why is it so dirty here? And again and again, his grandmother gently reframes the moment. She doesn’t dismiss his questions or rush him past them. Instead, she invites him to look again, to look deeper, to notice what might otherwise be missed.
CJ’s grandmother becomes a kind of spiritual guide, teaching him (and us) how to see goodness, beauty, and dignity in places that don’t always get named as beautiful.
My favorite part of the story is this exchange:
He reached for his Nana’s hand.
“How come it’s always so dirty over here?”
She smiled and pointed to the sky.
“Sometimes when you’re surrounded by dirt, CJ,
you’re a better witness for what’s beautiful.”He wondered how his nana always found beautiful where he never even thought to look.
Every time I read that line, it stops me. A better witness for what’s beautiful. This feels like a calling—not just for children, but for all of us. To notice beauty where it’s unexpected. To give testimony to it. To learn how to see with love shaped by experience, compassion, and hope.
Can I just say: I want to be just like CJ’s grandma.
This book makes a wonderful sacred story time invitation—one that opens space for noticing, empathy, and the holy work of paying attention.
Noticing prompt:
As you read, pay attention to the illustrations. Where does CJ notice something new because his grandmother points it out?
I wonder: Where do I tend to overlook beauty because I’ve already decided what a place—or person—is like?
Play prompt:
After reading, take a short walk or sit in a familiar place (a bus stop, sidewalk, parking lot, waiting room).
Challenge yourself to name three beautiful things you might normally ignore: a sound, a color, a small act of kindness, a patch of light.
Imaginative prompt:
Imagine you are riding the bus with CJ and his grandmother.
Who would you sit next to?
What would you notice first?
What might CJ’s grandmother gently invite you to see differently?
Prayer:
Beautiful Father, give us eyes to see beauty everywhere—even in places we are tempted to rush past or judge too quickly. Help us to be witnesses to the beauty you have already placed in the world. Teach us to notice it, name it, and share it with the communities in which we find ourselves. Amen.
Sacred Story Time: Winnie-the-Pooh booklet
Sacred story time is a perfect example of contemplative play, where we allow ourselves to rest in a low-stakes setting—like reading a children’s book—and take a minute to reflect on what is happening inside us, below the surface. Recently, I’ve started shifting my book reviews into sacred story time prompts. I also spent quite a while creating prompts and prayers to accompany the first chapter of Winnie-the-Pooh.
With each story, I always include three prompts and a prayer as a way to guide you in noticing. That said, as I’ve shared before, you can always simply read and then ask yourself, “What am I noticing?” or “What am I drawn to, and why?” before bringing that noticing to God.
The first prompt is what I call the Noticing Prompt. This sits 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 gentle story and allowing it to stir something within us. The prompts are there to help guide you, but honestly, you can do this without them too. My hope is that, as you read, you’ll pause to notice what’s happening in your heart. Afterward, you’re invited 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, though you’re always welcome to pray in your own words.
The second and third prompts are a bit more playful. These are activities you can do on your own, with a friend, or with a child—something lighthearted, creative, and intentional. Even when they seem a little silly, they often open the door to meaningful reflection as well.
Finally, there is the prayer. It might look like an afterthought, but it is actually 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 presence and help into what we’ve noticed.
This booklet, then, is a compilation of all the sacred story times I created with the first chapter of Winnie-the-Pooh. I hope there will be more to come, but for now, I wanted to offer a printed collection so you can have all the prompts and prayers in one place, right alongside the text. It is available for sale on my Etsy store, but all the prompts, coloring pages, and text are available for free download on my play page.
Holding grief, without fixing it
Sometimes I wonder if it still makes sense to talk about wonder, awe, play, and creativity during times of grief. Is there really space in these things for lament?
But grief doesn’t cancel out these things. It offers a way to hold it without trying to fix it. Sometimes they’re the only places that can adequately express our lament.
This is how they often show up in grief.
Wonder and Awe
In grief, wonder may get quieter: less “Isn’t this beautiful?” and more, “How can there still be beauty and laughter when everything feels so broken?” That question doesn’t need an answer, it’s already a way of naming grief.
Awe doesn’t always feel comforting. Sometimes it can feel overwhelming or even unsettling: standing before something you can’t make sense of (God, loss, love, mystery) is familiar ground when you’re grieving. The Psalms hold this kind of awe: honest, reverent, and unresolved.
Wonder and awe in times of grief allow room for lament and require honesty. But where do we put this kind of wonder and awe when we’re carrying grief?
Play through Creativity
Play in grief isn’t silly or escapist. It’s just about low-stakes presence. It gives your body and nervous system a place to rest without asking for meaning or productivity. It says, You’re allowed to be here without explaining yourself.
Creativity is one of the oldest ways people have expressed lament. Before grief has words, it often shows up as marks, movement, sound, silence, tears. We don’t create to feel better. We create to tell the truth, even when that truth feels raw or incomplete.
Lament belongs here because:
lament isn’t the opposite of faith; it’s honesty
lament doesn’t need resolution
lament needs space more than answers
Wonder, awe, play, and creativity don’t move grief along. They make room for it and remind us that:
you don’t have to be okay
you don’t have to have the right words
you don’t have to move on
This is why wonder, awe, play, and creativity matter so much to me. They aren’t extras we return to once we’re okay again. They are ways of staying present to God and to ourselves when life is hard. They make space for honesty, for silence, for unfinished prayers. And sometimes, that is what faith looks like, choosing to remain in relationship, even when all we have to offer is our lament.
A Gentle Practice for Lament
Settle your body. Take a few slow breaths.
Name what feels heavy, simply and honestly:
What is heavy right now is…
As you sit with that, choose one simple action:
make slow marks with a pencil, pen, crayon, or paint
move your hands through clay or dough
trace lines on paper without lifting your pen
Let your hands move without trying to make something good or meaningful.
When you’re ready, pause. Place a hand on your heart or the table.
Say quietly: Nothing needs to be fixed right now. I am already held.
Already Beloved (repost from 2023)
I’m resharing this reflection today, not because it’s old, but because it’s still very much alive in me. The patterns I write about here don’t disappear once they’re named; they soften through practice, grace, and repetition. This piece sits at the heart of the work I do now: creating space to release striving and to rest more fully in what is already true.
“May I invite you to drop the old names, come out from under the shame that tries to hinder your intimacy with God and others, and step onto the spacious path. Child of the living God, sing to the living God.”
—Tamara Hill Murphy, The Spacious Path: Practicing the Restful Way of Jesus in a Fragmented World
A couple of months ago, I wrote about shedding old coping mechanisms: learning to live more intentionally and to walk in truth. Today I want to write about another one. This has been a longer journey for me, with many iterations.
It began, as it so often does for me, with an awkward encounter with an acquaintance.
In the past, I would have left that interaction and verbally berated myself, cataloging how weird and awkward I am, asking myself what is wrong with me. Looking back, I feel sadness for how cruel I was to myself. If someone else had said those things to me, it would rightly be called abusive. I am grateful to say I’ve moved past that pattern, as it was a more obvious affront to God and His good work in me.
But as I fought that old habit, it morphed into something subtler. A thought crept in, embarrassing to admit: Wait until I lose weight. Then they’ll want to be friends with me. It lived mostly below the surface, but it offered a false hope that someday I’d be better, more deserving of love. As God slowly convicted me of loving myself as His image-bearer, I realized this too was unhealthy, and I began to fight it as well.
Eventually, that thought shifted again into something even quieter: Well, that was awkward, but wait until (fill in the blank). I had grown more comfortable with my body, but I still wasn’t content with simply being myself.
It took me a while to recognize this pattern. I had shed the verbally abusive thoughts and the fixation on my weight, but I was still placing my hope in a false promise: that someday people would love me for my accomplishments. I was idolizing a future version of myself to soothe the fear of offering my true self, right now, take it or leave it.
But the Holy Spirit is faithful. In time, He revealed this too, and I believe it was to lead me right here.
After another awkward encounter recently, I caught myself mentally scrambling for ways to prove I wasn’t actually a weird person. I can be fun. I am a good friend. I give good gifts! (Yes—these were literally the thoughts running through my head.) I imagined texts I could send, favors I could offer.
And then it hit me: I am already beloved.
I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. People can accept me (or not!) for who I am: broken, fragile, real. Because the good news is this: I am already beloved.
I am already beloved.
It has taken me a long time to feel how restful this truth is. I can stop striving and simply rest in my belovedness. And the beautiful irony is that the things I was trying to prove are already true. I am a good friend. I can be fun. I do give good gifts. I am a good and beautiful creation of the God of the universe. And most importantly, I was loved by Him before I ever came to be.
Tamara Hill Murphy puts it this way in The Spacious Path:
Our parents name us at birth, and God gives us our forever name at the second birth of baptism. In baptism, we step into the water of death with Jesus and are raised with him, the beloved. Because belovedness begins in God, we do not name ourselves beloved; instead, we receive the name—the reality of ourselves, fully seen and loved by God—as a gift.
Our temptation is to live as if we are beloved without letting the truth sink down into the true state of our souls. We may believe God loves us, but we haven’t allowed that love to help us discover the truth about ourselves. Any rest we feel that doesn’t help us discover the truth about ourselves is a false rest.
And oh! the rest and freedom that come from truly believing this. No more coping mechanisms after awkward encounters. No more striving to secure belonging. Instead, I am learning to settle into the truth of my belovedness.
I am grateful that my parents gave me the name that means beloved. And even more grateful that God calls me His beloved. And I am learning, slowly and imperfectly, to let that name sink from my head into my heart.
A gentle invitation: As you move through your own ordinary days, especially the moments that leave you replaying conversations or wishing you had been different, notice what name you give yourself. If you’re willing, try setting that name down. See what it might be like to rest, even briefly, in the truth that you are already fully seen and deeply loved. You don’t have to earn your place here. You are already beloved.
Invitation: A Creative Way to Walk Through Lent
This year, I’m offering a four-week creative spiritual direction group for Lent for anyone longing to move through the season slowly, honestly, and with care.
We’ll gather once a week and work on one piece of artwork over four sessions, allowing it to change gradually as Lent unfolds. Each week has a simple theme:
Releasing – letting go and making space
Resting – honoring grief, weariness, and lament
Renewing – noticing quiet growth beneath the surface
Rejoicing – receiving words of hope as we look toward Easter
Each session will include:
a short spiritual reflection grounded in Scripture
quiet journaling (private; never shared)
a simple, guided creative practice
generous silence and space for wondering
optional sharing from the experience of making (not explanations or analysis)
You do not need to be an artist or know exactly what you want from Lent.
This is not about producing something beautiful or meaningful, though many people are surprised by how much they love what emerges. It’s about being present and trusting that God is already at work, even in what feels unfinished.
If you’re tired of striving but still want to stay attentive to God…
If you long for a gentle, embodied way to pray…
You are welcome here.
This group is small by design and held with clear guidelines around confidentiality, consent, and care. Sharing is always optional. Silence is honored.
A quick note about logistics
This group will be offered in person, with space intentionally limited so the experience can remain quiet and spacious. The cost for the in-person group is $30, which simply covers all art materials. No need to bring anything with you.
If there is enough interest, I may also offer an online version of the group. The online group would be free, with participants providing their own materials at home.
If you’re interested but unsure which option might work for you, you’re welcome to reach out or add your name to the interest list.
Creative Prompt: Let it Dry
A creative practice for releasing urgency
Urgency has a way of convincing us that everything is immediate, that nothing can wait, that if we pause we might fall behind or miss something important. But today’s practice invites you to notice your relationship with hurry, not to necessarily fix it, but to sit with it, gently, and see what it has to teach you.
Using any kind of paint (watercolor, tempera, acrylic, even finger paint) begin making marks on the page very slowly.
One line.
One shape.
One patch of color.
After each mark, pause and notice the paint as it moves and settles.
Before switching colors, wait for part of the page to dry. You don’t need to wait for it to dry completely, just enough to feel the waiting.
Pay attention to what happens in your body during these pauses. Notice any urge to rush, fix, or move on.
Ways to Work (Optional Structure)
If it helps to have gentle guardrails:
Make only 5–10 marks total
Wait at least 30–60 seconds between colors
Change colors only when the previous one is mostly dry
Breathe slowly while you wait
Let the drying time become part of the practice.
Wondering Questions
You might hold one of these while you paint, or return to them afterward.
I wonder where I feel urgency in my body?
I wonder what I’m afraid might happen if I slow down?
I wonder what it’s like to wait without filling the space?
I wonder what the paint is teaching me about timing?
I wonder if anything important is actually lost by waiting?
If You Don’t Have Paint
You can adapt this with:
this coloring page
markers (waiting before adding another layer)
crayons or oil pastels (slowing your pressure and pace)
collage glue (waiting for pieces to set before adding more)
The key is deliberate slowness and allowing things to settle.
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to:
Spray or drop some water on a page.
Paint a few slow marks on or near the water.
Stop and watch the paint spread.
Wait until it’s dry before using a new color.
Wonder together:
Was it hard to wait?
What did you do while the paint dried?
What happens when we slow down?
Keep it playful and short. Even a little waiting is enough.
A Closing Invitation
When you’re finished, resist the urge to evaluate the page. It won’t be pretty or something you want to frame. That’s OK.
Instead, just notice: How does your body feel now compared to when you started? What in my life is asking me to dry in its own time?
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
How do you create + play? Interview with Florie
Creativity doesn’t always look like paint or paper. Sometimes it looks like a cutting board, a pot simmering on the stove, and hands moving slowly and attentively through familiar motions.
For this interview, I heard from someone whose creative practice is rooted in the kitchen, a place shaped by memory, hospitality, nourishment, and love. What began in childhood as helping with simple meals has become a way of caring for bodies and spirits, cultivating connection, and paying attention to the beauty woven into everyday ingredients.
Her reflections remind us that creating can be practical and sacred at the same time. That slowing down matters. That rhythm, care, and presence can transform ordinary tasks into acts of love. And that sometimes the most meaningful creative spaces are the ones we return to every single day.
What first drew you to cooking and what keeps you coming back to it now?
All seven of the children in my family learned to cook alongside our mother. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t peeling potatoes or stirring a pot of sauce on the stove. Recipes were basic because finances were quite limited, but there was always enough to share, and friends were commonly found along with the family around our large kitchen table. This instilled a sense of cooking as a way to show love and foster community. That is still what draws me now, along with the belief that I am nurturing both the spirits and the bodies of my family and loved ones as I prepare healthful and beautiful food for them.
What happens in you when you’re cooking? What do you notice, feel, or pay attention to?
I enjoy every aspect of preparing a meal, which starts with my weekly planning. I usually try to make at least one or two new recipes each week, and often make foods from different cultures. I ask each family member if they have one request for the week and incorporate that into my menu. While I’m planning I make my shopping list and then do my weekly grocery shopping where I try to get the freshest and healthiest produce I can find.
Dinner preparation is a peaceful time for me. I try to leave myself plenty of time so nothing is rushed. I prep all my ingredients in advance, and since we are fully plant-based and eat a lot of fresh produce, that is often the bulk of the cooking process. I love the fresh smells, the different colors and textures of the vegetables, and knowing that the phytochemicals that cause the beauty in them are the very ingredients that will nurture the bodies of those I love most.
I pay attention to the balance of the flavors and textures. A little fresh lime juice squeezed in at the end of the cooking time adds brightness, a little cilantro sprinkled on top of the bowl gives a fresh bite, beauty and added health benefits as do some toasted sesame seeds for textural contrast. The beauty is delicious and that makes me smile. We eat with our eyes first and I try to be conscious of that part as well.
You sometimes cook with your family members. What do you think happens when people create things side by side?
I love cooking alongside my children. My son Jacob is particularly interested in cooking and we work together well. There is a rhythm we fall into where we are making something delicious and nurturing together, and sharing conversation that nurtures our relationship. There is a shared sense of purpose while we work and the product is more pleasing and satisfying from the joint effort.
Has cooking ever helped you slow down, notice beauty, or connect with something bigger than yourself?
Almost always. If I’m rushed I am likely to cut or burn myself or the meal will suffer, so I have trained myself to slow down. I notice the beauty in the ingredients and the smells and textures and colors as they start to cook and change. I am mindful of the plants as created uniquely by God to feed and nurture our bodies and there is an air of reverence to the process. In a very real way my kitchen is the most sacred space in my home.
If you can imagine Jesus standing with you while you cook, what do you think he is doing/saying/thinking?
I often feel His presence as I’m cooking. I think He is pleased with the stewardship of my family’s health. I think he would say as my son often does when he walks in the kitchen, “It smells amazing in here.” I think He is pleased with the gift of love I am offering to my family and loved ones.
What would you say to someone who wishes they could create like that, but doesn’t know where to start?
Start simple. In the early years of my marriage I had a subscription to “Cooking Light” magazine. (My dad had his first heart attack when I was a freshman in college and Dan and I have always tried to eat in a way that protected our health.) I learned SO much from reading those issues for years and years and just trying recipes. The cultures of the world have incredible flavors and spices and smells to open your heart and mind and palate. Try new things. Don’t be afraid to “fail” and create a product that isn’t your favorite. Each recipe you try is a learning experience that prepares you for the next and then the next. Also, plants are amazing. Go to a farm or farmers’ market and try the weird looking alien purple vegetable you’ve never seen before. Embrace the full breadth of God’s creation because there is so much to enjoy. It’s nurturing and beautiful and your body and your spirit will thank you. Your family might, too.
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 Florie while she is in her kitchen. Renew her senses everyday to enjoy the smells, colors, textures, and tastes of the multitudes of different foods that you have provided. May every dish she makes be an act of worship, a sweet offering to you, Lord. Thank you for her example as she participates in your abundance. May your love and peace meet her, her family, and every guest around her table.
Do we have enough time to make space?
Sometimes when we talk about “making space,” it can sound unrealistic. We picture long stretches of quiet, a retreat center, or a life with far fewer responsibilities. Many of us wonder, Is it really true that I already have enough time to make space for myself and for God?
Surprisingly, yes. And here’s why.
1. God’s economy works differently than ours.
Scripture is full of stories where God provides abundantly from what looks like almost nothing:
A few loaves and fish feed thousands.
A widow’s tiny jar of oil never runs out.
Manna appears every morning in the wilderness.
These stories aren’t just about food. They’re about reality in God’s Kingdom: He is not limited by our limits. In His presence, scarcity gives way to abundance. If God is with you (and He is), then you already carry enough for this moment.
2. Making space isn’t about having ideal conditions.
Most of us imagine we need perfect quiet, a tidy house, or a cleared schedule before we can be still. But making space rarely comes in perfect packages. It often looks like:
Pausing for one slow, grounding breath
Speaking a short prayer in the middle of errands
Sitting with a cup of tea without scrolling
Doing something creative simply because it brings joy
Stepping outside for two minutes to notice the sky
Asking for spiritual direction
Turning your phone off for a short window
None of those require extra resources, only intention.
3. It’s true that it won’t feel productive.
We are so conditioned to measure our worth by what we produce that stillness feels uncomfortable, inefficient, or even pointless. But being with God is not meant to be productive; it’s meant to be formative. Over time, those quiet moments soften our hearts, steady our minds, and reshape how we move through the world.
4. Making space actually stretches time.
This is something people discover again and again: when we slow down, time feels different. There’s even neuroscience behind this: mindfulness and contemplative practices literally change the brain’s perception of time.
So yes, even a few intentional breaths can expand the space within us.
The truth is, making space isn’t about finding more time. It’s about learning to trust that God is already here, already offering enough for this moment.
You don’t have to wait for a perfect day. You don’t have to earn rest or stillness. You can begin right now, with whatever you have.
Practicing the Presence | Prompt 8: Reflections
“Find a reflection in water, glass, or metal and photograph it.
What truth or beauty is being reflected?”
Reflections invite us to slow down. They show us familiar things in unfamiliar ways. We don’t usually look for them, but when we do, they stop us just long enough to notice.
In the spiritual life, reflection works much the same way. It helps us see what’s already there, but from a different angle.
What Is “Practicing the Presence”?
Practicing the presence means learning to notice God in ordinary moments without needing them to be dramatic or profound. It’s paying attention to what is being revealed in the everyday: light, beauty, truth, and sometimes ourselves. Reflections remind us that God’s presence isn’t always obvious or direct. Sometimes it’s only glimpsed.
Try This
Today, look for a reflection. It might be in a puddle, a mirror, a window, a shiny countertop, or the surface of a parked car. When you find one, stop and really look.
Then ask:
What am I seeing reflected here?
What truth or beauty is easy to miss unless I slow down?
What might God be showing me about this moment or about myself?
Reflection doesn’t change what’s there. It simply helps us see it more clearly and often, that clarity is where God meets us.
Ins and Outs for 2026
I love this trend that replaces the same old boring (and unachievable) resolutions with an “In and Out” list for the year. So after some reflection, here is mine:
In
Making space
Speaking the truth
Rest
Creating to play
Crying
Reading children’s books as spiritual direction
Pausing before saying yes
Humility
Side quests
Slowness
Delight
Out
equating busyness with self-worth
People pleasing
Phone time
Creating to perform
Holding back tears
Unnecessary urgency
Comparing myself to others
Desiring the praise and credit
Rushing the ending
Taking myself too seriously
What is on your ins and outs list?
Creative Prompt: Circles of Color
A practice in noticing difference, wholeness, and belonging
This week I wanted to paint circles. This is mostly because one of my favorite Instagram artists talks about how much she loves circles, and when she’s anxious, she paints circles. They are also easy and pretty. And surprisingly meaningful, with no sharp edges, no clear beginning or end.
Today’s practice invites you to work with circles in a very ordinary way, and to see what they might gently teach you.
On a blank page, trace a bunch of circles in different sizes. You can use cups, jar lids, tape rolls, or freehand them if you like. Let them overlap or crowd one another. Then, color each enclosed space (each “piece” created by overlapping circles) a different color or choose colors slowly, one at a time, as you go.
There’s no picture to make, just shapes and color.
Watercolor Option
This is particularly fun in watercolor because you can watch the colors blend together or watch what new colors they make when they overlap!
Lightly trace your circles in pencil.
Using watercolor, fill each section with a different color or shade.
Some can be bold.
Some can be pale.
You can let colors bleed where they meet (wet on wet), or keep them separate (wet on dry).
Notice how the page changes as it fills.
Pause when it feels complete, not when it feels perfect.
Colored Pencil or Crayon Option
Trace your circles with pencil or marker or use this coloring page.
Choose one color per section, or rotate through a small set of favorites.
You can:
press hard in some places
color lightly in others
leave some sections barely touched
Wondering Questions
You might hold one or two of these gently while you work, or reflect on them afterward.
I wonder what it’s like to see many different colors sharing the same space?
I wonder if every section needs to be the same to belong?
I wonder which colors I’m drawn to and which I avoid?
I wonder how overlapping changes things?
I wonder what this page would say about community, or about me?
A Kid-Friendly Version
Invite kids to:
Trace lots of circles: big ones, tiny ones, silly ones.
Color every little space a different color (or just their favorite colors).
You can wonder together:
Which circle is your favorite?
What happens when circles bump into each other?
How many colors can fit on one page?
There’s no wrong way to do this.
A Closing Invitation
This is a practice of many parts making one page and noticing how boundaries and overlaps both create beauty.
When you’re finished, take a moment to look at the whole page. What would it be like to trust that there is room for all of this?
If you feel comfortable, I’d love to see what you create. When I share these prompts, I’ll always try to share what I’ve made too. Tag me on Instagram or comment below with a photo or reflection.
Making Space might mean Releasing
It’s the beginning of the month, and we return again to the idea of making space. It sounds simple, even inviting, but it is rarely actually easy. Making space isn’t just about clearing our calendars or carving out a quiet moment. Sometimes it asks something more costly: to loosen our grip, to release expectations, to lay down ways of being that once felt necessary but no longer give us room to breathe. Before we can experience deeper intimacy with God, we may need His help to notice what we’re still holding and what He is inviting us to lay down.
I had a humorous experience in spiritual direction last month that brought this home for me. As I was reflecting on releasing expectations I carry for myself, I remembered a time when God was gently showing me I didn’t need to do something. I was deep into Christmas pageant planning when it occurred to me that I should make cute programs to hand out before the show. I immediately sensed that this was an extra task I didn’t need to take on, but I resisted and made them anyway. They took about two hours to design, print, and cut. Pageant day came and went, and I had completely forgotten about them. Not a single person saw one or took one home as a memento. When I remembered this, I laughed out loud.
It’s a funny example, but it revealed something deeper in me. Even though I’ve grown in many ways, I’m still sometimes trying to prove myself. In making those programs, I wanted people to see that I was capable. This is where it gets tricky, because they would have been a sweet extra for the day, a meaningful keepsake for the kids. I wasn’t wrong to want to make something beautiful. But this is where discernment matters, because God sometimes invites us to stop, not because the thing is wrong, but because it isn’t required.
The issue wasn’t the action; it was the attachment. Releasing is hard work. It often takes more than one gentle prompting from the Spirit.
Here are some common examples of what we might need to release in order to make space for God, for ourselves, and for others:
Releasing expectations we place on ourselves
Releasing real or imagined expectations others place on us that are unfair
Releasing control and the need to manage outcomes
Releasing urgency, the sense that everything is pressing and must be decided now
Releasing certainty by loosening our grip on having the right answer, the right words, or a neatly wrapped theology
Releasing comparison (this one hits deep)
Releasing noise, both internal and external
Releasing the belief that productivity equals worth, or that there is an “ideal version” of ourselves we could reach if we just tried harder
Releasing our hold on self-protection, lowering the guard just enough to be honest with God, with ourselves, and with trusted others; letting tenderness exist without immediately armoring it
As we begin this month, perhaps making space doesn’t require a dramatic shift or a perfectly named practice. Maybe it begins with noticing, not just what we’re doing, but how tightly we’re holding it. The invitation may not be to stop doing good or beautiful things, but to release the attachments that weigh them down. We don’t have to loosen our grip all at once. We can open our hands just a little, trusting that God is patient and kind, and that the space created, however small, is enough for Him to meet us there.
Sacred Story Time: Moments in Nature
I’ve been using Slow Down: 50 Mindful Moments in Nature by Rachel Williams as a kind of devotional. It’s written for children, but the invitation to slow down alongside the natural world was too good to pass up. Each spread highlights a simple truth: so much of life in nature happens slowly. Seeds wait underground. Animals pause to listen. Trees grow ring by ring, year by year.
As I read, I find myself moving at the book’s pace, lingering over illustrations and marveling at God’s good creation. With every page, I ask myself a quiet question: What is God inviting me to notice here? Not notice in a hurry or over-analyze, but notice in the way children do, with curiosity and care.
This book offers a beautiful on-ramp into sacred story time, whether you’re reading with kids, using it in a classroom or church setting, or sitting alone with a cup of tea. Below are a few playful, open-ended prompts to help turn story time with this book into a sacred practice.
Noticing prompt:
As you read a page, pause and look closely at the illustration. What small details do you notice first? What do you notice second, once you’ve slowed down a bit more?
I wonder: What in my own life is growing quietly, slowly, without much attention right now?
Play prompt:
After reading, step outside or look out a window and choose one small part of nature to observe for one full minute. A leaf. An ant. The clouds. A patch of grass.
Set a timer if that helps. See how still you can be. See what moves when you don’t.
Imaginative prompt:
Imagine you are part of the scene in the book: a tree, a bird, a stream, or a seed beneath the soil.
What would it feel like to live at that pace?
What would you want to say to God from that place?
Prayer:
Generous God, thank you for creating this world for us to nurture, enjoy, study, and learn from. Help me to see you here, even in this tiny part of your beautiful world. Give me eyes to see even as I put this book down, so that I might continue to notice your peaceful nature in every creature. Amen.
A Simple End-of-Year Examen
A few years ago, I participated in an end-of-year online retreat that was essentially an examen, a guided time to look back over the year with God. We were invited to notice where the year held joy and grief, where we felt God’s presence, where we felt His absence, and then to gently turn our attention toward the year ahead by naming our hopes.
It was a simple, two-hour retreat, hosted by Tamara Murphy. And yet, I have never forgotten it.
I remember being genuinely surprised by what the Lord brought to mind during that time. Moments I might have dismissed as small rose up with meaning. Threads I hadn’t noticed before became visible. God felt near, not because the year had been easy, but because I was finally slowing down enough to see.
I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions. I resist the idea that one day is more important than another, or that change must wait until January 1 (or the start of a month, or a Monday!). That belief runs deep in our culture and honestly, I still fall for it sometimes.
But I want to keep practicing this truth:
Every day is sacred. Every day is a chance to begin again.
In that sense, an examen doesn’t belong only at the end of the year. I can do a short examen each evening, looking back over the day, noticing where I felt God’s presence or resistance, gratitude or sorrow. This daily practice reminds me that God is already here, already at work.
And still… there is something uniquely powerful about doing an examen over a longer stretch of time.
Looking back over months instead of moments helps us notice patterns. It gives us space to reflect on what lingered, what surprised us, what kept returning. It allows gratitude to deepen and naming to become more honest. Often, it shows us that God was present in places we didn’t recognize at the time.
While a year-end examen can be done at any natural boundary, a school year, an anniversary, a season of life, the end of the calendar year often offers a gentle and natural pause to look back and look ahead, held together by prayer.
A Simple Year-End Examen
You don’t need a lot of time or special words. Just a willingness to be honest and attentive, and to trust that God meets us there.
1. Become aware of God’s presence.
Begin by settling in. Take a few slow breaths. Ask the Holy Spirit to guide your remembering, to bring to mind what God wants you to notice, not just what feels loud or obvious. Rest in the truth that God is already with you.
2. Review the year with gratitude.
Slowly walk back through the year. You might move month by month, season by season, or simply notice what rises to the surface.
Where did you experience joy, delight, or connection?
Where did you feel God’s nearness in moments of grief, loss, or lament?
Even if the year felt heavy, ask gently: What gifts were present, even here?
3. Notice moments of absence or resistance.
Where did God feel distant? Where did you feel numb, rushed, or closed off? This isn’t about blame, it’s about honesty. God can meet us even in what feels unresolved.
4. Watch for patterns.
As you reflect, notice what repeats. Is there a theme that emerges, a longing, a fear, an invitation, a place of growth or fatigue? Choose one pattern and bring it to prayer. Ask God what He might be showing you through it.
5. Look toward the year ahead.
Finally, turn your gaze forward. What hopes do you carry into the coming year? What do you desire, not just to do, but to receive? Hold these hopes lightly before God, trusting that the One who was faithful in the past will meet you again in what’s to come.
An examen doesn’t give us tidy answers. But it does give us something better: awareness, gratitude, honesty, and hope. It helps us remember that God has been with us all along and that He is already waiting for us in the days ahead.
Fostering Spaces of Wonder
I’ve been thinking a lot about wonder lately and how to foster it in every day spaces. As I’ve been holding these questions during Christmas, I found myself returning again and again to Mary. And only just now did I realize: Mary shows us how to foster spaces of wonder.
When Scripture tells us that Mary “pondered these things in her heart,” it’s describing exactly what I mean by wonder. She doesn’t rush to explain or resolve what’s happening. She makes room. She holds the mystery gently. She takes a quiet step of trust without demanding clarity.
To foster spaces of wonder is simply this: to make room.
This is what I mean when I talk about contemplative play. Yes, it includes time to create, imagine, and play but it goes a step further. It invites us into wonder by slowing down enough to notice what’s stirring within us, by asking gentle questions, by imagining what God might be inviting us into beneath the surface.
Contemplative play is not about producing something meaningful; it’s about being present to what is already unfolding. It’s choosing attentiveness over efficiency, curiosity over certainty. In that way, it becomes a spiritual practice, one Mary models so beautifully for us.
I suspect I’ll keep returning to this theme in the coming months, because I’m increasingly convinced that wonder itself is a spiritual discipline, one that our modern day faith desperately needs. But for now, I want to leave you with a few simple ways to begin fostering these kinds of spaces in ordinary, everyday life.
Simple ways to foster wonder in everyday life
Slow the pace. Leave margin in your day to linger, notice, and pause instead of rushing to the next thing.
Practice not-knowing. Replace quick answers with wondering questions: What do I notice? What surprises me?
Lower the stakes. Engage in activities that can’t be done “right”, like free drawing, playful movement, and contemplative or imaginative prayer.
Use your senses. Light a candle, touch natural materials, listen closely, breathe deeply.
Welcome silence. Even brief moments of quiet create space for God to speak beyond words.
Pay attention to small beauty. A patch of light, a child’s question, a line of poetry, a moment of peace.
Model curiosity. Say your own wonder aloud, about God, Scripture, people, and the world. Even better, be curious together in a group.
Like Mary, we may not always understand what God is doing. But when we make space to ponder, to wonder, to stay open, we create room for faith to grow.