Let There Be Light: A Small Change That Transforms Everything
Sometimes the smallest investment brings the greatest realization. Adding a simple light to my workspace revealed more than dust or detail—it reminded me that in both art and life, illumination is what awakens us to what matters.
I had a realization recently that’s changed my approach to both my craft and my life. It came down to one small tweak: more light.
Like any artist, I invest in tools carefully. Each purchase must justify itself in the long run. Two months ago, I decided to add a second LED strip light to my studio—a modest 800 lumens of flexible, battery-powered brightness. I already had one and found it useful, but adding a second transformed everything. With two angles of light, I could see details in my carving that I’d missed before. What was once hidden in shadow became clear.
It struck me: how often do we work in environments with too little light, not just physically but spiritually? No wonder we miss the details.
We’ve all heard the phrase “swept under the rug.” The truth is, much stays hidden in darkness. In our homes, the brightest sunlight of morning or evening reveals dust, clutter, and imperfections we’d rather ignore. Likewise, in our lives, we often dim the light intentionally—closing blinds, staring into screens, avoiding what needs our attention.
But it’s only when the light shines that we can see clearly. Only when we let it in do we realize what needs cleaning, what needs tending, what needs healing. The same is true in our hearts and minds.
All it took was a simple LED light to remind me of this. And it brought me back to an old, timeless verse:
“And God said, ‘Let there be light!’ … and there was light.”
It’s in that light—whether in art, work, or life—that creation begins to appear.
Keeping the Moment Holy: Mindfulness in Stone Carving and Life
Life’s rush often steals our attention, leaving us shallow and restless. Through stone carving and the mindful practice of treating each moment as “holy,” we can reclaim presence, gratitude, and peace in the small rhythms of daily living.
“There’s a rhythm and rush these days, where the lights don’t move and the colours don’t fade.” — José González, Stay Alive
We often find ourselves moving task to task in a blur, rushing through life without pausing to breathe. For me, stone carving is where the rush stops. It’s a mindful practice, a way to return to presence. To carve well, I must set aside the moment—make it “holy.”
In scripture, the Sabbath was meant as a day of rest, set apart from work. It was a practice of abstaining from productivity, a way of fasting from the rush of doing. Ascetic monks extended this rhythm into daily life through abstinence and devotion. In the modern West, we’ve reshaped this idea into what we now call mindfulness—bringing ourselves back into the present moment.
But what if we went a step further? What if every act was set aside as “holy”?
We lose presence in daily life when we lose gratitude. The little things—our morning coffee, sunlight on the window, an old song on the drive home—become invisible. Stone carving has taught me this lesson repeatedly. Some days the work feels like strain and frustration, but when I remember to treat the act itself as sacred, the process shifts. Each mark of the chisel becomes a prayer, a moment of presence, a reminder that the craft cannot be rushed.
Without this, life quickly slips into what González describes as a “world gone shallow and a world gone mean.” The antidote is simple: notice, give thanks, and let each moment last.
We are here only a short while. Let us honor the small rhythms of life as gifts from the Creator—moments set apart, holy, eternal.
