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Welcome to Grace Rewoven: a space for honest reflection, gentle teaching, and authentic community. As we journey through the ordinary watching the Lord lovingly weave our story, I plan to share the hard-won wisdom that has emerged from seasons that unraveled my world. Christ has met me in the frayed edges with healing, peace, and surprising joy. My hope is that as I trace the ways God has rewoven grace through my own life, you’ll feel invited to look more deeply into yours, discovering that in the day-to-day ordinary, through seasons of abundance, and even in hardship and trauma, Christ is present, stitching together something whole, holy, and beautifully new.
exploring everyday theology through the sacred threads of ordinary life.
I Don’t Fight Alone: The Beauty of Remembering
This weekend we attended a Día de los Muertos festival. There was music, dancing, beautiful artwork, vibrant colors, and the unmistakable joy of a culture that has found a way to remember its dead with tenderness rather than silence. I knew what Día de los Muertos was. I understood the traditions, at least in part. But I wasn’t prepared for how deeply it would move me. We sat down to eat when I noticed an elderly man playing his guitar for a baby. I watched as he played, then
Come On, Girl: The Heart of a Father “The Lord speaks of peace to his people.” — Psalm 85
Today, I went to Reconciliation. I still find it intimidating. Even as a Catholic convert who has come to deeply appreciate the beauty of this Sacrament, it very humbling walking into that space and laying down our sin, what we carry, and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable before God. But today, in that vulnerability, I encountered something my heart desperately needed. I was received as a daughter. Not as someone who needed to try harder, accomplish more, or prove herself w
She Was Never Meant to Be Silent: The Beauty of a Woman’s Voice
Tonight, a storm rolled through West Texas. The rain came sideways, driven by a determined wind. It was the kind of rain we desperately needed, arriving with all the fury that nature sometimes requires to make things new. And then, almost as quickly, there was peace. A cool blanket of air settled over everything, and the bright orange sky slowly transformed into extraordinary shades of pink and purple. The trees stood dark and strong against the fading light, their branches s
The Beauty of Becoming Ready
The first cold front of the year makes me want to get my house in order. I'm a little like the squirrels who reside in the big oak tree in my front yard. They're busy this time of year, scurrying about, gathering what they need to settle in for the changing season. Every fall, I find myself doing much the same. Tidying, rearranging furniture, pulling out decorations, and preparing our home for what is coming. My fall decorations have already made their appearance, I've been w
When Justice Becomes a Spectacle
There are moments when I look at the direction of our country and wonder what, exactly, we are teaching our children. Not simply what we are teaching them about politics or patriotism, but what we are teaching them about God? Specifically about justice, mercy, and the sanctity of human life. And about what happens when we begin using the name of Jesus Christ to justify things that seem increasingly difficult to reconcile with the Jesus Christ we encounter in Scripture. The an
She Was Never Just His Mother
Our Lady of the Rosary | October 7 For much of my Christian life, Mary was simply the mother of Jesus. An extraordinary woman, certainly. Chosen by God. Faithful and obedient. Worthy of admiration, especially at Christmas. But beyond the Nativity, she occupied very little space in my theology. And the Rosary? That was an entirely different matter. As a Protestant, I understood the objection. Why pray to Mary when we have direct access to Jesus Christ? Why involve His mother w
I Did It My Way
There is a woman at our favorite resort in Cancun who sings Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” And it makes me cry in a way that makes me glad that it’s always dark in the lounge where she sings. This is not occasionally or only if I happen to be emotional that evening. It’s immediate. She sings it beautifully, but it is more than that. There is something in the way she sings it that reaches a place somewhere beneath the words. It feels soulful enough to hurt. And over the course of o
In the Land of the Living
I have been plucked out of my life for a few days. That may be the best way I know to describe it. Plucked out of the schedules and responsibilities, the watching and wondering, the advocating and anticipating. Plucked out of the pressure of my own productivity and performance affecting the outcomes of others’ lives. Plucked out of the place where my nervous system has spent far too much time lately perched at the very top of the trees, scanning the horizon for whatever might
The Courage to Surrender
This morning, I stood at the ambo and proclaimed, “Seek the LORD while he may be found, call him while he is near.” (Isaiah 55:6) And then, “The LORD is near to all who call upon him.” (Psalm 145:18) When you proclaim Scripture aloud, you listen to it differently. You’re entrusted with giving God’s Word a voice so that others might hear what He is saying. And sometimes, while you’re proclaiming those words to everyone else, you realize He is speaking directly to you. Today wa
You Go to My Church
Converting from Protestant Christianity to Catholic Christianity is a risk. I wasn’t leaving Jesus behind. Quite the opposite. I was following Him into a place I had come to believe He was leading me. But following Him doesn’t mean the road is without loss. When you have spent much of your life in Protestant circles, particularly when your family and your identity have been so deeply intertwined with ministry, becoming Catholic changes things: relationships, conversations, th
The Gaze of Mercy
For a long time, I thought I had a grasp on the Cross. I knew Jesus died there. I knew He rose again. I knew the empty tomb was the victory. And like many Protestants, I was accustomed to an empty cross; a reminder that Jesus is no longer there. Then I became Catholic, and suddenly there were crucifixes everywhere. Above the altar. On the walls. Around people’s necks. In their homes. In hospital rooms. In my own home. Jesus was still on the Cross. To me that’s a bit graphic.
The Açaí Bowl and The Ocean
I am writing this from a hammock on my patio; Jack tucked away calmly in his room “just chillin, Mom”. I am wearing silky pajamas in the West Texas heat because September has no intention of acknowledging that fall is coming. There is just enough gray in the sky to suggest rain, although whether it actually intends to rain is another matter entirely. And for the first time in several days, I am still. This week was hard. There are parts of it that belong to my son and theref
Keep Up With Me
Yesterday, before I left my grandfather’s hospital room, he looked up at me and said, “Keep up with me.” He meant it practically. He knew they would probably transfer him to a rehab hospital soon, and he wanted to make sure I knew where he went. “Keep up with me.” I assured him I would. What he doesn’t remember is that less than twenty-four hours earlier, I had been trying desperately to do exactly that. A scary health situation unfolded and I quickly figured out care for Jac
I Can Sleep Because He Does Not
www.instagram.com/hillary.creates “You look stressed.” Thanks. It’s all the stress. I saw that little graphic this week and laughed harder than it probably deserved. Jack has autism, and this week his nervous system simply had more than it could manage. Puberty. A new school campus. That darn full moon (don’t come at me; it’s so very valid). Changes in routine. Expectations. Sensory input. Fight or flight. The amygdala. Life. Whatever combination finally tipped the scale, it
Oh, There You Are
Two Sundays ago, I walked into Mass completely unaware that I was scheduled to lector. I was barely through the door when I was greeted with, “Oh, there you are!” There I was, indeed. There was just one problem: I had absolutely no idea why anyone was looking for me. When I realized I was supposed to be reading the Word to the faithful, I said NO. More than once. I was unprepared. I hadn't looked at the readings beforehand. I hadn't mentally shifted from walking into Mass as
The Heart Remembers What We Teach It to See
Today, my oldest left for college. I've known this day was coming for eighteen years. I still wasn't ready. I can still picture the little boy who layed in his bed one night with tears in his eyes, crying because he realized he was growing up: “My ‘little blanket’ doesn’t cover my legs anymore; I'm growing up, and I can't do anything about it. I don't want to have to leave home." I held him then, wishing I could somehow slow time. Today, he drove away to become the man God is
She Learned His Voice Before She Found Her Own
Lately, St. Joan of Arc has been quietly appearing in my life: a quote, a study, a passing thought. She seems to be one of those saints who keeps tapping me on the shoulder until I stop and pay attention. Joan's story has never captivated me primarily because she led armies or changed history. It captivates me because she learned to recognize the voice of God, and then she courageously spent the rest of her life refusing to let louder voices drown it out. That kind of discern
Dios está aquí.
"Dios está aquí." God is here. Those were the among the first words we sang as Mass began today. By the time we reached Communion, we were singing, "Where You are, Lord, I am free." Those two simple refrains tell the entire Christian life. God is here. And where He is, there is freedom. Today's readings (1 Kings 3:5, 7-12; Matthew 13:44-52) invite us to ask a question that cuts beneath our surface desires: What do you treasure most? In 1 Kings, Solomon could have asked for fi
Not Everything That Grows is Good
Over the past two Sundays, I’ve been struck by the theme in the Gospel readings: Everyone wants the harvest. We celebrate the full wheat field, the overflowing fruit basket, the answered prayer, the healed marriage, the saintly life. We love the harvest. But almost no one talks about what had to happen before the harvest. Before a seed ever grows, hard ground has to be broken open. Rocks have to be removed. Weeds have to be pulled. Soil has to be turned over, often in ways th
On Peace
The older I get, the more I realize that peace isn’t found when life finally slows down. It’s found in the presence of Christ. As I sat in my rocking chair recently one afternoon with my Marian garden behind me, Jesus the Good Shepherd in front of me, and storm clouds gathering overhead, the Gospel of the day settled deep in my heart: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28) There is a verb there. Come. Rest requires movement
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