Beginning Again: Reclaiming Your Quiet Time with the Lord

 There’s something deeply comforting about beginning again. I often think of how the seasons gently turn, always arriving in their own time, never rushed—never scolded for being late. And perhaps, our hearts are much the same. They, too, move in seasons. Some are fruitful and focused. Others—well, they drift a little. And that’s okay.

I’ve found myself in one of those drifting places lately. The quiet rhythm of meeting with the Lord each morning had slowly unravelled. Not in a dramatic way—just a slow slipping of intention. The Bible sat unopened on my desk. The journal gathered dust. And my soul began to feel it.

But here’s what I’ve also found: the Lord never turns away. His invitation to come away with Him remains open, unchanging. No matter how far we’ve wandered, we are always welcome to begin again.

A Gentle Return

I’ve started to return, slowly. Not with strict routines or grand intentions. Just small, meaningful moments—like lighting a candle before the house stirs, whispering a prayer as the kettle boils, or sitting quietly by the window with an open Bible and expectant heart.

No guilt. No pressure. Just grace.

I think that’s the key, really. Coming back to the Lord isn’t about performance. It’s about presence. It’s about remembering who we are, and whose we are. And often, it begins with one small choice—a simple act of turning our heart back towards Him.

Little Touches of Beauty

As I ease back into a rhythm, I’ve been drawn to creating a little space that feels peaceful and lovely—a quiet corner with my Bible, a notebook, and my favourite mug. Nothing fancy, just comforting.

A candle flickering nearby. A vase of garden flowers. Even the gentle hum of a hymn playing softly. These small touches speak deeply to my spirit, drawing me into rest and worship without words.

It reminds me that beauty and faith are not separate things. They are woven together in the fabric of daily life, gently pointing us back to the Creator.

When Quiet Time Isn’t Quiet

If you’re in a season where quiet is a luxury, I understand. I’ve had many of those years—years of nappies and homeschooling, full sinks and full hearts. And I know that quiet time with the Lord doesn’t always look like sitting serenely with tea and Scripture.

Sometimes it’s praying while pegging out the washing. Sometimes it’s listening to Scripture on audio while doing the ironing. Sometimes it’s just pausing in the middle of a messy kitchen to whisper, “Lord, help me.”

And that counts. More than we know.

No Shame, Only Grace

If, like me, you’ve been feeling a little distant, I hope you’ll hear this: you are not behind. You haven’t failed. You are simply human. And you are beloved.

There’s no need to fix everything overnight. Just begin again. One verse, one prayer, one moment of stillness at a time. The Lord is already there, waiting to meet you.

With You in the Starting Again

So today, I begin again. Not perfectly, but prayerfully. With a quiet heart and open hands. If you’re in a similar place, know you are not alone. We can begin again together.

May this be a gentle season of remembering, of drawing near, of basking once more in the beauty of His presence.

With love and grace,

The Gentle Art of Returning to the Rhythms of Home

 As I purposfully seek to return to the gentle rhythms of home, I find myself drawn back to the age-old rituals that tether us quietly to place, season, and purpose. 

There’s a particular kind of peace in the doing—kneading dough, preserving fruit, watching something transform through the work of your hands.

The Joy of Strawberry Jam

This past week, the supermarkets have been overflowing with strawberries. While going to a pick-your-own farm is a lovely activity to do, it is not always practical to fit in around the other tasks and commitments of everyday life. 

So I am taking advantage of the bumper berry crop that is coming through our supermarkets at the moment and popped a large tray of strawberries into my shop this week, earmarked to be transformed into some delicious homemade jam. 

There is something wonderfully satisfying about watching those ruby red berries yield their sweetness, filling the kitchen with the scent of early summer.

I used a simple recipe—just fruit, sugar, and a touch of lemon juice—and found the process calming, contemplative even. There’s a kind of ministry in the making of jam: the careful stirring, the watching and waiting, the little ceremony of pouring it into warm jars. 

It felt like a declaration that the slower, domestic arts still have a place in a world that rushes on. A quiet protest, perhaps, or maybe just a sweet way of coming home to oneself.

The Sourdough Saga (So Far)

Now, not all my domestic adventures have gone quite so smoothly. I’ve been attempting to grow a sourdough starter. Let’s just say... it's been more of a lesson in humility than success thus far.

Despite following trusted instructions, keeping it warm, feeding it regularly, and peering at it far too often, the starter remains stubbornly uninspired. 

Still, I’m not giving up. There’s something beautiful about the process of trying, failing, and trying again. Perhaps the Lord teaches us perseverance in such things—the quiet resolve to keep at the good work, even when the fruit is slow in coming.

Learning New (Old) Skills

One of the things I love most about homemaking is that there is always something new to learn. Whether it’s preserving, baking, mending, or growing—there’s a lifelong education to be found within these walls. In embracing traditional skills, we’re not just reviving lost arts; we’re anchoring ourselves and our families to rhythms that nourish body and soul.

I find that the more I lean into this way of living, the more connected I feel—to creation, to my family, to the Creator Himself. These are not “small” tasks; they are sacred ones. There is wisdom in the work of our hands, and joy in growing capable and resourceful in our own homes.

A Freezer Full of Cinnamon Buns

Another small victory this week was in the form of cinnamon buns. I’ve been experimenting with making a batch, allowing them to prove, and then freezing them in their ready-to-bake state. 

The idea is to be able to take them out and bake from frozen—fresh buns, no fuss. I confess, this is not my own brilliant idea! Rather, it comes after a visit to a beautiful farm shop in North Wales. 

Along with their lovely ready-meal selection, they had tubs of loose ready-to-bake frozen pastries. Seeing that inspired me to build up my own stash of ready-to-bake pastries.

It works wonderfully. On slower mornings or when guests are visiting, I can simply pop a tray into the oven, and the scent of cinnamon and dough fills the house as though I’ve been baking for hours. It feels like a gift to my future self. I highly recommend giving it a try if you're looking to bring a little more ease into your baking routine.

There’s a loveliness in these quiet returns—to homemade things, to hopeful beginnings, to imperfect attempts that still bring joy. Whether it’s jam bubbling on the stove or dough rising by the window, each task is an invitation to re-root ourselves in the steady beauty of home.

So if, like me, you’re sensing the pull to re-engage with the gentle arts of the home, follow it. Make the jam. Bake the bread (or at least try). Honour the ordinary and sacred alike. There’s no rush—just rhythm.

With warmth and jam-scented blessings,
Shirley x