This week, my family and I are spending a few days in the beautiful Northwoods of Wisconsin. Between quiet mornings, long walks, and time around the lake, I've found myself reflecting on three words that have quietly shaped both my life and my work.

The Larger Story.

Those three words hang in brass letters on the wall of my living room. They are also the title of a beloved book by an author I wish I could have known better.

Over the years, those words have become a lens through which I see the world.

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I believe every small part of my life is held because it becomes part of my larger story. Nothing is wasted. Every experience matters.

I see this reflected in my family, too. Each of my children—and my husband and I—bring our own joys, wounds, and experiences together so that our smaller stories become the story of our family.

And above all, I believe every human life, precious and valuable, becomes part of the larger story God is telling throughout history.

Maybe that's why I keep painting fragmented forms, distinct lines, and broken pieces. They remind me that we are all made of many parts, and that every one of them belongs.

When I look at a canvas, I don't see disconnected shapes. I see lives. I see beauty woven through the fractures. I see small pieces coming together to create something whole.

              Without always realizing it, I've been painting what I believe to be true about the human experience.

Perhaps that's why I keep returning to these lines, these fragments, and these patterns. They remind me that our stories are rarely neat or uninterrupted. Yet somehow, every piece belongs.