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Excerpt for Blog: Reclaiming Home: Trusting the Hands That Help Build

Reclaiming home is more than a renovation project—it’s a soul-deep process of letting go, leaning in, and trusting again. For me, it meant peeling back the layers of fear and disappointment, then choosing to believe that beauty could be built again—even with help from strangers. I hired professionals, not just for their skill, but because I needed to trust someone outside myself to carry the vision I could barely put into words. With every brushstroke, patched wall, and thoughtful detail, my house became more than a structure. It became a soft place to land, shaped by trusted hands and fueled by courage I didn't know I still had.

Ever wonder why some quilts just work—like they have rhythm, flow, and purpose? It’s not just about picking pretty prints; it’s about the volume they speak. In my latest blog post, I’m breaking down the magic behind high, medium, and low-volume fabrics, sharing the secret ratio that brings harmony, and how to mix bold prints with quiet backgrounds (plus when to throw in a solid for good measure).
Let your quilt tell a story—not shout or whisper the whole time.

Stuck in a creative rut? You’re not alone. Your spark isn’t gone—it’s just waiting for space to breathe. Step away, play, and create just for YOU. The magic returns when you stop forcing and start feeling.

“I never knew how much fear could be wrapped up in something as simple as picking a paint color. But creating a home—my home—has stirred up every past wound about safety, belonging, and permanence. This week, I take a step toward reclaiming my space. Not just with color, but with courage. I’m allowing myself to take up space, rewrite old stories, and build a sanctuary from hope instead of fear.”

Even in silence, my energy speaks.
I don’t blend. I don’t bend to fit.
And while that makes life more complicated, it also makes it more mine.

 I love my family. And I love the quiet, creative life I’m building. This isn’t a contradiction—it’s my truth. I’m learning that I can love deeply and still need space. I can show up with heart and still protect my peace. This is my season of holding the AND: honoring both love and limits.

“When Joy Comes Quietly”

I never imagined that morning would change me.
It was Mother’s Day 2019, and I had no expectations. I wasn’t dreaming about brunch or flowers. I wasn’t even longing for a phone call. I was simply holding space for myself—with a warm mug of coffee, a little quiet, and acceptance of my place in life.

Then came a voice.
My son’s voice—brave, a bit nervous, and full of life.
“Mom, are you sitting down?”

I braced for heartache. But instead, I was handed joy. Raw, surprising, beautiful joy.

The kind that doesn’t shout…
It whispers.
And it rewrites you.

I couldn’t face the paperwork today, so I opened my closet instead. Four donation bags later, I realized I wasn’t just sorting clothes—I was sorting through emotions I didn’t have words for. Healing looks strange sometimes. Today, it wore pajamas.

For years, I wore the invisible uniform of a military spouse—quietly sacrificing my dreams, my needs, and often, my voice. I was taught to support the mission at all costs, even when the cost was me. But what happens when the mission ends… and you’re still disappearing? This post is for every woman who gave everything and is finally ready to reclaim herself

Last week was heavy with emotion, disappointment, and unexpected change—but in the quiet rhythm of squaring quilt blocks and hosting creative moments, I found something steady: myself. This post is a reflection on showing up through emotional storms, reclaiming peace in small acts, and finding purpose in creative connection.

I thought the door was closing. I nearly canceled my barn quilt classes today—disappointed and defeated. But on Resurrection Sunday, the day we remember how hope rises from what seems lost, help arrived in the most unexpected way. Not with wings, but with name tags from Menards and Home Depot.

When I dared to ask for help, strangers became angels. And in that holy moment, I remembered: God often works through the hands of others… if we’re just willing to reach out.

This heartfelt journal entry reflects on the day my mother passed away—a sacred Friday marked by sorrow, reflection, and the quiet assurance that “Sunday is coming.” Through grief, betrayal, and unexpected loss, I share how faith in Jesus, the love of my husband, and the hope of rebuilding The Blue Bee continue to anchor me. A story of memory, mourning, and the tender unfolding of resurrection hope.