a note from the gardener

I just finished reading through my journal from last summer — May 9th through July 23rd.

This is something I love to do. A way of remembering. Of stepping back to see the forest for the trees — something that doesn’t come easily to me.

My journals hold thoughts and feelings, prayers and scribbled verses, and so many questions. They’re messy, raw, sometimes profound — especially in the hard seasons.

I usually look back on past versions of myself with a bit of a wince. Younger-me feels embarrassing, naïve, not quite “together.” It’s my default lens: contempt, not compassion.

But this week, grace surprised me.

As I reread journal entries from one of the hardest seasons of my life, what stood out was my faith. Small, fragile, sometimes gasping for breath — but present. And beautiful. Even there, even then: He was there. He was holding me. He was speaking. Always tender, always close.

May this be an altar.

I’m so grateful, Jesus.

from the garden:

• the path of pain — confessions from my own stumbling, and reflections on a Savior who walked the same way ahead of me.
• a letter from my eighty-year-old self — a voice of compassion, courage, and delight from the future.
• open and choiceless expectancy — what the beach is teaching me about receiving.

cut glass

more delights to inspire you →

today’s invitation

Come into the quiet and tell the truth. Confess.

Not to prove anything.
Not to earn your way back.

But because you are safe there.

His grace has already reached the depths.
There is gold in the digging.
More of yourself to uncover.

more on confession as kindness →

Thank you for going down the path with me today. If this is your first time, I encourage you to check out this note explaining the idea of the digital garden and what's up with the weird title 😄.

Peace to you! ✌️