In the last few months I traveled halfway around the world. The trip was like a rock dropped in a lake, and I’m flowing out in the ripples. Opportunities to share the story of Sanctuary of Hope and Pamba Toto abound. I’m swimming hard to keep up.

Amidst it all, my children, home on summer break from school, moved in and out of my coming and going. Summer bustled with joy. Now, as they return to school, quiet settles over the house and over my soul.

I feel expectant and afraid.

Brushes and paint, gathering dust during my longest break from painting in the last four years, quietly whisper, “It’s time.”

I try to ignore it.

The same old taunts leak into my mind. Art is such a lonely journey with no clear markers, like wandering in a forest without a trail. Every tree looks the same and there are few guides…