For the ones who wonder if the unseen work still matters.
Maybe I’m Supposed to Create Anyway
A reflective blog series about creative calling, quiet obedience, and choosing to build what God keeps whispering—
even when no one claps.
This space is a slow, sacred exhale. A pause between the pressure. You are welcome here.
🕊️ Browse the full blog series here
Have you ever wondered if the quiet work is enough?
Like maybe you’re showing up, doing the thing God whispered to you,
but you’re not sure if it’s making any real difference.
I have. More often than I’d like to admit.
Not long ago, someone said to me, “You seem so peaceful.”
And I blinked. Like—me?
They didn’t know I’d been in my head all morning.
Overthinking. Undervaluing.
Trying to convince myself—again—that the smallness of this season didn’t mean I’d missed it.
But that comment stayed with me.
Because even when I don’t feel peaceful, maybe something deeper is still growing.
Maybe something’s taking root.
What fruit really looks like
I used to think that if you were walking in your calling, it would be obvious.
Things would fall into place. People would notice. The doors would open.
But Galatians 5 doesn’t describe fruit as obvious or loud.
It describes it as lasting:
Love. Joy. Peace.
Patience. Kindness. Goodness.
Faithfulness. Gentleness. Self-control.
No applause. No spotlight.
Just evidence.
And I wonder—have you ever chased the outcome instead of letting God shape the process?
Have you ever been tempted to measure your calling by visibility instead of fruit?
Me too.
Still becoming
Even after years of sitting with these verses, writing through each fruit one by one,
I don’t feel like an expert.
I just feel more aware of how much I still need the Spirit to grow these things in me.
Take gentleness.
That one doesn’t come naturally to me.
I’ve grown—truly.
But it still takes intentionality. Especially in creative work.
Gentleness shows up in how I talk to myself when things are slow.
How I keep showing up when nothing seems to land.
How I resist the urge to tear it all down just because I’m discouraged.
And then there’s patience
That one surprised me. I didn’t try to grow it—it just started showing up.
Like grace that had been working underground.
After our second child was born, people—especially my husband’s family—began to say how calm I seemed.
They’d watch me with him and the kids and say, “You’re just so peaceful,” like they were trying to figure me out.
What they knew—but didn’t always say—is that my husband is very A-type.
Strong-willed. Structured. Clear about how he likes things done.
And if something’s off, he’ll say it. No one’s exempt—not even his mama.
That can rub people the wrong way.
But honestly? It doesn’t really bother me.
I just ask, “How do you want it?” and we move on.
Not because I’m passive.
But because I’ve learned there’s peace in working together—
and in not needing everything to be perfect in order to thrive.
What patience has looked like in me
Our kids are talkative. Inquisitive.
Always asking. Always needing something.
But I love that.
I love reading with them, explaining things, letting them wonder out loud.
There’s something grounding about being their calm place.
And maybe that’s what fruit looks like sometimes.
Not being unshaken—but being rooted anyway.
When pressure shows up
Still, there are days when I feel it—
The pressure to perform.
To be more confident.
To sound like I’ve got it all figured out.
There was a moment not too long ago when I sat halfway through a post and thought,
“This sounds good… but it’s not true yet.”
And I had to stop.
Because I don’t want to create from pressure.
I want to create from presence.
Have you ever felt that tension?
Between what you know you’re called to say,
and what you’re afraid people won’t understand?
I think about Joseph
Not the kids’ version with the coat of many colors—
but the man whose life took so many wrong turns it’s a wonder he kept believing.
He had a dream. A real one.
But before the dream came true, he was betrayed. Thrown in a pit.
Forgotten in a prison.
And still, he served.
Still, he led.
Still, he used his gift—even when no one was watching.
That part? That gets me.
Because when the time finally came—when the dream was fulfilled—
he didn’t let bitterness speak for him.
He forgave.
He fed the same brothers who sold him.
He bore fruit in private long before he stood in power.
The fruit is the preparation
I used to think fruit was the proof of the calling.
But maybe it’s the preparation.
Gifts can open doors.
But fruit helps you stay there with grace.
So when peace shows up even when the metrics don’t…
When joy stirs in the middle of a messy draft…
When patience holds you when the answers are still out of reach…
When faithfulness means posting it anyway…
When gentleness keeps you from quitting too soon…
That’s fruit.
That’s God.
And maybe all the quiet, all the waiting, all the hidden growth—that’s not wasted.
That’s not delay.
That’s formation.
Maybe the real invitation isn’t building something great—
It’s becoming someone deeply rooted.
If I had to choose between building something impressive and becoming someone whole—
I want to choose wholeness.
Because what good is a platform if it makes me hollow?
I want to create in step with the Spirit.
To let Him prune what needs pruning.
To let Him grow what only He can grow.
Fruit doesn’t come because we push harder.
It comes because we stay.
Because we remain.
Lord,
Let my work be an overflow, not a performance.
Let it be shaped by who You’re shaping me to be.
Grow fruit in me I don’t even know to ask for.Amen.
📖 This is Blog #10 of 16: A Life That Bears Fruit
From the series Maybe I’m Supposed to Create Anyway
Take your time here.
No need to rush through.
The fruit is growing—even if you can’t see it yet.
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