Gathering the Light, Holding the Moment, Creating with Wonder

The Why & A Thank you

There comes a moment on every journey when you stop—not because you're finished, not because you have arrived, but because something in you knows it's time to look up, to breathe in, to take stock of where you are and how far you've come.

You pause, resting your hands at your side. Feet pressed into the ground beneath you. The rising and falling of your breath reminds you how present you are. It could be the glimmering light of morning, the kind that turns everything soft and gold. Maybe it's the hush that settles when you finally exhale, a quiet knowing that the steps behind you have shaped the ones ahead. Perhaps it's the way the wind shifts, lifting the edges of something unseen. Or maybe it's the simple truth that the trek—this winding, holy, exhausting, beautiful trek—isn't just about reaching somewhere but about how you gather, how you hold, and how you create along the way.

This space is for that pause. It is for you and for me. 

For the ones walking—sometimes steady, sometimes stumbling—who are gathering light as they go. For the ones learning to hold the moment, even when it feels impossibly fleeting. For the ones longing to create, not for perfection or applause, but from a place of deep wonder.

I know what it is to crave steady ground, to wrestle with the weight of what was and what is still unknown. I know what it is to feel called forward while mourning what is left behind. And yet, I also know the beauty of pressing on—not just for the summit, but for the grace found in the climb itself.

So here, we will walk together. We will collect glimpses of goodness, small and bright as fireflies. We will anchor ourselves in moments that matter—ordinary yet holy, fleeting yet eternal. And we will create—not just words or art or plans but lives marked by awe, faith, and an abiding trust that even in the mess and the mystery, there is meaning.

This is the trek. This is the wonder. This is the invitation.

Let's keep at it. 

Your presence here means more than you know. Thank you.

Thank you for coming along with me.

* A heartfelt thank you to

Beth Kempton

for sparking this reminder in me: that my words matter, that our stories are meant to be shared and set free—not stored away—and that releasing them into the world is both a gift and an act of courage. Here’s to fearlessly writing.