In my classroom designs, you’ll find lighthouses, anchors, waves, and stars—not just because they’re beautiful, but because they speak to something deeper.
My love for all things nautical began shortly after high school, when I taught at an island-themed Vacation Bible School at my church. I was a spirited pirate captain, sailing the seven seas in search of treasure and adventure. It was a joyful time, and I was at that invincible age when life stretched wide ahead and the map had yet to be written.
A lesson from that week stayed with me: If pirates can be redeemed, so can I. That truth has resurfaced many times since, each time with sharper focus and deeper clarity.
In 2020, lighthouses took on an even deeper meaning. My love for pirates and nautical themes became a lifeboat during the greatest storm of my life. At 14 weeks pregnant with our sixth child, I learned that the baby I carried had anencephaly and would not survive birth. I carried him through 39 weeks of gestation, and he was born into the arms of loving family and friends—sleeping, never to take a breath this side of heaven.
During that time, I clung to the truth that light cannot be extinguished, no matter how dark the darkness. And the darkness was deep. Grief was heavy, wrapped inside a pregnancy that was meant to be hopeful. It turned bitter and sour, with fear replacing dreams.
For me, lighthouses, pirates, anchors—they all symbolize a connection to hope. Hope of forgiveness. Hope for wholeness. Hope for a future beyond what I can immediately see.
My faith is the undercurrent of all my work—from affirmations to the simplicity of a coloring page. It’s about building something that reaches into tomorrow and makes today worth living. That’s the kind of energy I want to bring into every piece I create. A small, flickering light that whispers: You’re valuable. Who you are is enough