Some mornings don’t begin with light… but with the slow remembering that it still exists. Joy Beneath Sorrow A grateful heart rises and wrestles my grief to the ground, slaying the dragon of despair. My weary soul awakens as joy, long hidden beneath sorrow finds its way into the light. My eyes open to the goodness God has scattered throughout my life, and a smile returns to my lips. Peace begins to settle… into the tender places of my heart, long numbed by suffering.

This is a prayer for the long nights when hope feels thin and the house grows very quiet. My soul feels dry, my hands ache from caring, my heart carries him in every beat. The house is quiet now. Bandages folded and ready. Texted prayers read. Well-wishers gone and lights dimmed for the night. But You remain. You are still here. You were here for every doctor’s visit—here when hope lifted and when it quietly fell. You see the wound that will not heal. You see the skin trying

There are seasons when good intentions quietly unravel, when the goals we set with hope and confidence begin to feel heavier than inspiring. We don’t always notice when it happens—only that somewhere along the way, resolve thins and uncertainty takes its place. Maybe you’ve felt it too. That subtle inner hesitation that asks, What if I can’t? What if I’m not enough? Doubt doesn’t usually shout—it whispers. And sometimes those whispers are enough to stall a dream, silence a c

This piece was born from all the moments when my prayers fell silent. There are times when words simply won’t come—when the ache runs too deep, or the waiting feels impossibly long. In those quiet spaces, I’m learning that prayer isn’t something I have to get “right.” It isn’t always spoken aloud or written in a journal. Sometimes it’s a sigh, a tear, or the smallest turning of my heart toward God. And what comforts me most is this: God hears the wordless sounds of the soul.

When life feels heavy and hard to understand, God sometimes sends beauty as a message—a tender reminder that He sees us, even in the dying places. This is how He spoke to me one Sunday morning… through flowers. June 2, 2025 Yesterday, I drove to church alone. JD stayed home because of the pain in his leg. Saturday had been brutal for him—full of disappointment as he wrestled with the reality of how much it hurt to take a few steps with his new prosthetic leg. As I worshiped

Finding My Way Back to Me This morning, I got lost in memories. Not the kind you choose to revisit, but the type that shows up...

“After the Harvest “ 2015 The Waiting Room June 25, 2025 Tears roll quietly down my cheeks even though I wish them to stop. Once again, I’m sitting in a surgical waiting room—waiting while the doctor explores an infection in JD’s stump, revealed on an MRI. Last night was hard. JD barely slept. The pain was fierce. And the anxiety? It was worse than ever. I think he’s come to terms with the possibility that he may never walk again. But what he longs for most is stability: No

The Underpainting: Growing Strong in Life’s Windstorms When I begin a painting, I often start with what’s called an underpainting—a base layer, usually in burnt sienna or deep orange, brushed across the canvas. Then, instead of adding paint, I begin removing it. With tools like Q-tips, paper towels, and dry brushes dipped in thinner, I carve out light and shadow, form and movement. I’m not creating the full image yet—just shaping the foundation. This layer will mostly disappe

Today, I scraped my husband’s spirit— with sharp, broken-glass words. Words flung too fast, too fierce. I saw the sting in his eyes, the...

Looking for Joy Tulips mark the arrival of spring and bring a smile to my face. After arranging these beauties, I painted them from...

“The Still Life” oil on canvas, 2023 Do you long for a "still life," or are you satisfied with your status quo? Do you want a break from your fast-paced daily grind, or are you thriving? Maybe you want to retire at some point but aren’t excited about old age or the lack of a perceived purpose. Perhaps you don’t desire to go slow, and certainly you don’t want to be still because of a physical affliction. I wasn’t seeking a still life. But when the pandemic came, I felt forced

Morning comes silently upon the Earth. But if you open your ears to its magnificence and beauty, perhaps you’ll pick up the melodic tune...

WONDERMENT, oil painting, 2013, Whistler Canada (I mistakingly sent the wrong version of this earlier today. My apologies). The following...

"Into your hands, I commit my spirit; deliver me, oh Lord, my faithful God.” Psalm 35:1 (NIV) I usually prefer to take matters into my...

The sun is shining, so why do I feel like I’m walking in the dark? H ow do you walk in the dark, when there is no light-switch, no...

“Take Another Look" oil on canvas 11x14 "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day,...

Before the Cock Crows Oil on canvas, 20x26 -2007 This painting reminds me of myself—how I can so easily become puffed up with pride or...

"Losing My Edge," oil on canvas, 11 x 14 Do you ever feel like you’ve lost your edge? Your morale is dashed at work; your game is off; writer's block leaves you defeated; a relationship feels rocky; your creative touch has vanished, you name it -your confidence gets kicked to the curb, and you can’t get that “edge” back. These days, when I’m in my studio, I almost feel desperate to get the paint on the canvas, as if I’m running out of time. There’s so much I long to say with

"Silent Solace", oil on canvas 9x11 I’ve noticed recently, among my family, friends and acquaintances, more and more of us are...

A Winter's Gift 11x14 Oil 1999 The following writing is from my book, Art and Soul. It's for those of you that are battling the "winter...