Stitch by Stitch: Creating When You're Running on Empty

Because even the tired can still make something radiant.

I’ll be honest—I almost didn’t write this post. Not because I didn’t want to connect, or because I didn’t have anything going on. In fact, maybe the opposite. Between prepping for a quilt show, pastoring through the usual spring swirl, Holy Week and Easter, and deciding—on a bit of a whim—to make a new shirt just days before the show, I’ve been riding the edge of tired for a while now.

But even in the midst of all that, I’ve been happy. Truly. This season has been full in the best ways: creative, colorful, community-filled. It’s the kind of tired that comes from doing what you love, with people you love, in ways that reflect who you are. I may be stretched a bit thin—but it’s the good kind of stretching, like pulling fabric taut so you can stitch it into something new.

And yet… here I am. And here you are. So let me tell you a little story about a shirt, a quilt, and what it means to keep making anyway.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, I got it in my head that I wanted to make a shirt. Not just a shirt—this shirt. Bright, bold, and made from a series of patchwork-style “cheater prints” that practically shouted my name. It wasn’t perfect. I trimmed seams. I adjusted hems. But when I finally slipped it on, I smiled. It didn’t just fit—it felt like me. And in a season where I’ve felt pulled in a million directions, that’s no small thing.

Bold, bright, and unapologetically me—this cheater-print shirt was a last-minute project that turned into a personal favorite.

The back features a surprise: a double wedding ring panel that felt like a stitched-together love letter to tradition and play.

Wearing that shirt to the quilt show felt like bringing a piece of myself into the space—both literally and metaphorically. It wasn’t just a fun outfit (though it definitely earned a few compliments); it was a symbol of how making continues to root me, even when the ground beneath me feels a little unsteady.

The quilt show itself was a whirlwind of pins, labels, layouts, and late-night to-do lists. I had the honor of designing the layout for the entire show—making decisions not just about where quilts would hang, but how they would speak to one another. I wanted the whole thing to tell a story, to glow like a needle effortlessly threading its way through many layers. Being part of the team that brought it all together was joyful—but exhausting. My own quilt, "There’s Sew Place Like Home," was one of many beautiful pieces on display. And to my delight, it even got a ribbon—third place in the Extra Large Pieced category! Seeing it up there, surrounded by all those familiar faces from The Wizard of Oz, felt like the warmest kind of homecoming. The title felt more real than ever: there really is no place like home.

Standing beside “There’s Sew Place Like Home” in my handmade shirt—tired, happy, and proud of the joy stitched into every square inch.

A third-place ribbon, a lot of heart, and a little reminder that making what you love is always worth it.

The thing is, I almost didn’t submit it. I worried it wasn’t “good enough.” That it might not measure up. But I did it anyway. Because sometimes the act of showing up is what matters most. Whether a quilt gets a ribbon or not, whether a shirt collar lies flat or goes rogue—it’s the act of creating and sharing that transforms thread and fabric into something sacred.

I used to think creativity had to come from a place of abundance. That you needed a spark of inspiration or a surge of energy. But lately I’ve realized it often comes from somewhere much quieter—a kind of gentle persistence. Not the lightning bolt, but the steady hum. Not brilliance, but presence.

Sometimes, making isn’t about beauty or perfection—it’s about survival. It’s about trusting that your hands still know what to do, even when your spirit is dragging. It’s about finding your way stitch by stitch, seam by seam, back to something that feels like you.

And let’s be honest—this past week, it wasn’t the quilt or the shirt or the ribbon that sustained me. It was the community. The shared awe over hand quilting. The smiles. The strangers-turned-cheerleaders. The quiet nods of recognition from people who also know what it’s like to make something out of exhaustion and still call it beautiful.

And, of course, a cameo from Mister Rogers never hurts.

Channeling neighborly vibes with Fred himself—because nothing says comfort like kindness, quilting, and a shirt you made with your own two hands.

This colorful tribute to Mister Rogers reminded me that creativity and compassion make the very best neighbors.

So here’s to all of us stitching our way through the chaos. May your seams be strong, your bobbins full, and your creative spark gently kindled—even if you’re running on empty. You’re still making something beautiful.

A Benediction for the Tired, the Tender, and the Fabulous:

Beloveds, go forth from this patchwork moment wrapped in joy, grounded in grace, and stitched together by something deeper than exhaustion—stitched together by love, by beauty, by the divine thread that’s been running through you all along.

May your creativity be fierce even when your energy is low.
May your bobbins stay full, your seams lie flat,
and may every crooked stitch remind you: perfection is overrated, but presence is holy.

When the world feels like a mess of scraps,
may you be the one who says,
“Oh honey, watch what I can make with this.”

Go ahead—take your tired, tender, fabulous self
and keep showing up. Keep piecing it together.
Keep dancing in shoes that sparkle and shirts that shout your name.

Because the work you do with your hands, your heart, your hope?
It matters. It blesses. It sings.

So go in peace—
and make something beautiful.

Amen and amen. 🧵✨