Yesterday I lost a pregnancy, and my heart broke into little pieces. In the midst of grief, I chose to turn toward Jesus and place my sorrow into something made by hand. This is how I am learning to hold pain, beauty, and healing at the same time.

Yesterday I embraced hope. This morning, I was left with loss, anger, and questions that have no answers. This is a raw reflection on grief, faith, and choosing not to close my heart even when it hurts deeply.

My first CampFest brought prayer, butterflies, and personal discoveries about how I connect best with God—and a reminder that knowing ourselves is a gift in itself.

Lunch with my nieces, a confirmed milk allergy, and prepping for my very first festival weekend—it’s been a full and unexpected week.

When my mom couldn’t visit this summer as she has for the past eight years, I decided to do something different—take a friend on our traditional summer lunch instead. Nivi and I spent a beautiful day together in Bratislava: brunch at Fach, ice cream by the castle, flower bouquets, and new memories. This summer has been about connecting in small but meaningful ways, and I’m grateful for what’s grown in place of what I missed.

This summer has looked different than any other in my nine years here. It’s been challenging, but also deeply healing. Through photography, quiet honesty, and leaning into God, I’m rediscovering who He’s called me to be. Sometimes that means sitting with hard emotions instead of running from them — and letting that become part of the healing too.

What started as a spontaneous invitation turned into a weekend of unexpected beauty, quiet reflection, and mountain trails.

I’ve written so many blog posts lately—none of which have made it out into the world. Life hasn’t been wildly busy, but it’s been full in other ways. Quiet ways. Stitch-by-stitch kinds of ways.

A walk through the blooming forest at our garden cottage reminds me how much beauty there is in the ordinary. Wild roses, clovers, neighborly chats, and the joy of putting down roots right where we are.

This morning I didn’t feel like creating. I almost stayed in. But a patch of poppies changed everything. I pushed myself into a photo shoot—and it turned into a full day of photography, editing, and creative momentum. Sometimes showing up is the real work.

I finished my biggest knitting project of the year—a beautiful Artus shawl. But after months of slow, joyful work, I’m not sure I even like wearing it. This post is about the process, the disappointment, and choosing peace anyway.

We spent May 8th at the garden cottage, tending to weeds, painting trim, and raking grass clippings. It wasn’t a restful day, but it was full of meaning—shared work, small victories, and a growing garden full of future beauty.

A warm and restful weekend in Banská Štiavnica gave us just what we needed—sunny days, slow walks, and the joy of reconnecting after weeks of full schedules. A simple and beautiful spring escape.

A warm, reflective day with my dear friend Petronela in the spa town of Piešťany—a place filled with memories. We talked, rested, and remembered why friendship, in all its ups and downs, is one of God’s greatest gifts.

After a creative pause, I’m slowly returning to photography, film, and the joy of sharing. This post holds a glimpse of spring’s beauty, my blooming balcony garden, and two sentimental rolls of film that reminded me why I love what I do.

A long weekend filled with family, a return to my favorite Slovak town, an unexpected film camera, and an Easter celebration to remember. This post reflects on the quiet joys of Banská Štiavnica and the simple beauty of time well spent.

What started as a simple sewing day turned into something more tender. A conversation, a memory, and the ache of waiting reopened a quiet grief. In this post, I share how I chose Jesus in the middle of my pain—and how even heavy days can hold reminders of His promise.

A quiet day at home with my son turned into one of unexpected peace and creative movement. From making soup and designing a phonics book to rediscovering my lost Fujifilm settings, it was a day of small, sacred moments—each one reminding me that what matters most often happens off-screen.