Novembers Letter | A Reflection on Curiosity, Craftsmanship & Grace
- nicole garner
- 4 days ago
- 4 min read
Updated: 3 hours ago
Welcome to Tales of Green & Faithful Musings — monthly reflections on creativity, faith, slow living, and the quiet work of becoming. This month’s letter explores what a week of sanding a table revealed about intuition, craft, and the grace that shapes us.
If you enjoy slow living, faith-rooted reflections, creative rest, or seasonal homemaking, you’re in the right place.
A reflection on curiosity, craftsmanship, and grace
I spent a week refinishing a table ahead of our first summer gathering. Armed with an orbital sander, a pair of dungarees, some goggles, and an endless supply of java chip iced mochas, I got to work. Several days and several iced mochas later, she was sanded to beautiful perfection — the kind of perfection that would make my woodwork teachers proud.
The hum and vibration of the sander, the smell of wood, the sun peeking through the clouds, I felt a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in a while. The kind that comes with being out of your head and in your body; when monotonous movement empties your mind and it’s just you, and your heart is quietly whispering.
While working on this table, people wanted to advise me or even finish it for me, and I felt this resistance inside me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want help, but I work best when I can follow my instincts and see where it leads. I enjoy experimenting, refining, deleting what doesn’t work, and keeping what does until it feels right. It’s not that I don’t have a process. I do — but it’s intuitive, often invisible, and shaped by trust in my own creative judgment. Other times, when storytelling is the craft, I do enjoy guiding someone through the journey so they can experience it with me and reach the conclusion in their own meaningful way. I think the real tension is about whose way of working is allowed to lead, and therefore determined right.
I’m learning that I can't short-circuit my process. I'm a person who needs time: time to think, time to experiment, time to be curious. The outcome might not be perfection, but it tells a story, and more importantly, I learn something new for next time. The difficulty comes when others expect a kind of linear reasoning or palatable logic behind every step, as if the only valid process is one that can be explained or approved. I’ve found that catering to that expectation often pulls me out of my flow. It shifts my focus away from what I’m making and toward how I’ll justify it — turning something instinctive into something performative. That mismatch is usually where expectations fall flat. In trying to short-circuit myself, I’ve found myself overwhelmed, fuelled by fear and shame, trying to meet the expectations of others, instead of nurturing my curiosity and intuition.
As I applied the protective oil, I saw the imperfections come alive. They tell the story of the table — the broken panel from the first family get-together after our wedding; the cracks from me rushing to finish it so I could run off to meet my husband for dinner; the orbital sanding marks because I'm still getting used to a new tool; the section of old stain I couldn't remove, and slivers of black paint from when she belonged to my neighbour (between the two of us this table has had multiple lives — imperfect, but perfect for the job of being a table, and helping us heal through motion). I've found a freedom in finishing this table. Though it's physically drained me, there is a burst of energy and excitement in my soul.
I'm somewhat reminded of life: life when you come to Christ. His protective oil shows up all our imperfections and past mistakes, but they don't count us out, and we aren't judged by them. They are just part of our story and should serve as a reminder of how far we've come. And just like the table, when you take a step back, it looks absolutely perfect.
This is my reminder and yours, stay curious, and embrace the grace God freely gives us.
As with so many things, what started as a practical job turned into a spiritual nudge.
Maybe these questions are part of that nudge for you too:
When was the last time you felt truly curious?
What’s something you’ve been putting off because you didn’t think you could do it perfectly?
yours faithfully,
nicole garner
Themes in this month’s letter
embracing imperfection
creative process & intuition
slow living and craftsmanship
Christian reflections on grace
learning through hands-on making
finding peace through practical work
If you're curious about the table
Thank you for reading this month’s reflection from Tales of Green & Faithful Musings. If the themes of curiosity, grace, and creative rest resonate with you, feel free to share this letter or explore the archive.
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