Have you ever been given a book that was exactly what you needed—one that somehow found its way to you at just the right time? For me, that gift came through a sweet friend in the form of The Way of the Wildflower. It offers thirty gentle gospel meditations meant to calm the anxious soul, and I’ve been slowly savoring each one. I’m especially drawn to the art woven throughout its pages—it feels deeply aligned with both my faith and my creative practice.
This book has become the perfect springboard for a return to quiet. I’ve found myself going back to something very simple and old-school: opening my actual Bible, not an app, and reading a devotion alongside a chapter of Scripture. There’s no checklist, no streak to keep, no box to mark complete. It’s no longer about checking something off my to-do list. It’s simply time to sit, read, and listen. The simplicity feels grounding—less demanding, more spacious—an invitation to be present rather than productive.
Alongside this, I’ve returned to journaling by hand, using my own prayer journal as a way to stay anchored. Not that I wasn’t journaling before—I was, mostly on my phone—but I’m making a conscious effort to pick up my phone less and put pen to paper more. Writing by hand slows my thoughts and creates room to notice what wants to surface. It feels less like documentation and more like paying attention.
All of this has shaped my intention for the year—not a resolution, but an intention. To feel less pressure to perform. To move through my days with less hurry. To notice and soak in the joy God brings each day, especially in the small, often overlooked moments.
Wildflowers don’t rush to bloom—and neither does meaningful work.
I’m curious to see how this renewed rhythm of quiet and journaling begins to show up in my art. I want growth that isn’t forced, curated, or hurried. I want to create work that invites the viewer to linger, to ponder, and to notice something deeper than surface beauty. Work that unfolds slowly. Work that makes room for stillness.
If you’re entering this season craving a little less noise and a little more meaning, I hope you’ll give yourself permission to slow down. Maybe that looks like reading something slowly, writing by hand, or sitting in the quiet for a few moments longer than usual. You might even ask yourself: What could change if I released the need to rush or perform? What intention wants to take root if I simply listen? There’s no right way to begin—just space to notice what’s quietly unfolding.
If you’re feeling drawn to start (or return to) a handwritten journaling practice, I’ve linked my Prayer Journal below as a simple place to begin—no prompts to rush through, just open space to listen, reflect, and write by hand.
Here’s to a year of listening, lingering, and letting things unfold.