I make things. Spoken word about ancient kings. Photos of tigers in tall grass. Scenes in a black box theater where I take on imaginary circumstances as an actress for hours every week.
I also live in a world that is clearly, measurably falling apart.
Some days those two facts sit next to each other just fine. Some days they don't.
There's a version of this tension that sounds noble — the artist who creates beauty in the face of chaos, who lights a candle instead of cursing the dark. That's not really what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the days where you're editing a photo of a waterfall and you wonder if any of it matters. Where you're halfway through writing a poem about the throne room of God and you think, who is this for?
"For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen."
ROMANS 11:36, ESV
I have a conviction that won't leave me alone: I was made to make things.
Not as a career strategy. Not as content. As a calling.
I'm a writer. An actress. A photographer. I married my best friend, building a business, preparing for motherhood, and trying to hold all of it without dropping the parts that matter most. The creative work isn't separate from any of that. It's woven through everything.
I believe stories are one of the most powerful ways we communicate what's true. A spoken word piece can make people think about a passage of scripture they've heard dozens of times in a new way. A photograph can stop someone mid-scroll and make them feel a part of a moment that is in actuality far away from them. An honest performance can bring life to stories that could easily be forgotten. And even fiction can tell us more about the real world than our own lives sometimes.
That's not nothing. That's actually a lot.
So this is a blog about making things. About travel — chasing macaws in Costa Rica and standing under waterfalls in the Pacific Northwest. About writing — how spoken word works, what the creative process actually looks like when it's not being packaged for Instagram. About acting — what acting technique through Meisner training is doing to my brain. About faith — the kind that shapes everything.
Dust & Glory — that's what we are. Dust — fragile, temporary, not as important as we think. And glory — made in the image of something eternal, carrying weight we didn't ask for and can't put down.
The work I get to do lives fully in both realities. The tension is real, but so is the beauty. So here it is.