From Wandering to Worship: The Beginning of Olive & Wool Stitchery

Hi friend — I’m so glad you’re here.

This isn’t the full story, not yet. Someday, I’ll share more of the darker valleys I’ve walked through — childhood trauma, instability, and the ache of wandering through life without a sense of safety or purpose. Those things shaped me, deeply. But for now, I want to start somewhere lighter, somewhere honest, somewhere real.

I was born and raised in South Minneapolis. As a city kid, I loved being surrounded by people, places, and possibilities. My bike and the city bus were my passports to freedom — to visit friends, hang out at the mall, and explore the world beyond my front door. I loved school up until about sixth or seventh grade, when it started to feel dull and pointless. I didn’t want to sit at a desk and memorize facts. I wanted to create, explore, and conquer the world.

Looking back now, I wonder: when do we lose those dreams? When do kids stop believing that anything is possible? I carry that question with me as I raise my own children — and I pray I never pass on the weight of that disillusionment.

Growing up, I lived out of a backpack. I bounced between the homes of my mom, dad, grandma, aunt, and stepdad — always somewhere in the Twin Cities or its suburbs. The instability became normal. During high school, things took a painful turn. My mom was in and out of treatment, my dad was mostly absent, and I was left without access to a stable home. I found belonging in all the wrong places, and even when I was surrounded by people, I felt completely alone.

“Why, God?” I used to ask. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” I carried that emptiness for years — even through relationships, motherhood, and a career I once loved as a hairstylist. Even after meeting the man who would become my husband, I still wondered, Is this really it?

I was overwhelmed with the belief that life was just suffering, bills, and a slow crawl toward the end. But that unease drove me to dig deeper. I started reading Scripture. I started asking real questions. And slowly, I began to encounter the truth of who God really is — not the distant figure I once imagined, but a loving Father who doesn't cause our pain, but walks with us through it.

The pain, I realized, was never pointless. It would one day tell a story. And it would not define me.

I made a decision: I would no longer live as a victim. I would not become another casualty of generational pain. I would not let go of the most precious gift God ever gave me — my children. Instead, I chose to dedicate my life to Christ, because through Him, I have a purpose, a future, and an eternal home.

Honestly? I’d rather believe that this life does have meaning — that there’s a holy Creator, a divine Father, and a Spirit who guides me when my thoughts grow dark and my path feels unclear. I believe it’s all for something. I believe I was made to share the good news.

In early 2024, I picked up a crochet hook — thanks to my incredible mother-in-law, who helped spark my love for all things “homemaker”: sewing, crafting, and crocheting. It wasn’t easy (shout out to Hooked By Robin for saving me from throwing the yarn out the window during my battle with the magic circle!), but once it clicked, I knew I had found something special.

It wasn’t long before I realized I could weave my faith into my fiber work — and Olive & Wool Stitchery was born. Today, I create a mix of handmade crochet items, meaningful printables, and faith-inspired designs, all with the hope of encouraging women to slow down, live intentionally, and remember the goodness of God — even in the messy, hard, and beautiful everyday.

So here I am: a stay-at-home mother of four, stitching faith and purpose into every thread and design. I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: I was lost, and by God’s grace, I’ve been found.

If you’ve read this far — thank you. If you have a testimony of your own, I would love to hear it. Feel free to reach out on Instagram, by email, or in a DM. I believe in the power of connection, encouragement, and finding our way together — led by our faithful Shepherd, one stitch at a time.