At the very first book signing, beside the woman who taught me what grace looks like in real life. Some stories begin long before we ever write them down. 

Some moments are quiet but holy,  this was one of them. Sitting among shelves of stories, holding the one God wrote through me. 

When your heart is lighter than the book you wrote. Sometimes gratitude just spills over, and that’s okay. 

When God lets you see the beauty in the small and ordinary, even your apron becomes a testimony of grace. 

Hands on the plough, heart full of purpose. Some fields are spiritual, some creative — but either way, you keep sowing where God plants you. 

Leaning into a quieter world — where milk came in cans, life moved slower, and gratitude wasn’t something you had to schedule. 

Curled in the straw, unaware of how much hope it carries — a living whisper of the slow and sacred rhythm of creation. 

There’s beauty in the ordinary labour — in the bending, the lifting, the doing. God meets us in the dust and the hay, reminding us that sacred work doesn’t always look like Sunday best.