Maybe Soap Was Just One Medium

Can I be honest about my art degree and college?

I wasn’t actually the best artist.

I can’t draw. I couldn’t really paint anything realistic well. But I was pretty good at selling things. 😂

So if the final product wasn’t exactly perfection, I could explain the history, my intent, and the process behind it. Somewhere in that pitch, I could usually invoke enough emotion for you to understand what I was trying to do—and hopefully receive the good grade.

But here’s what I genuinely loved about art:

The process.

I was drawn to art forms that weren’t necessarily the most popular or the easiest. I loved the ones that required layers of effort to get to the end.

You start with a blank canvas—or fabric, yarn, wood, whatever the medium might be—and then you begin. You shape. You change colors. You change direction. Sometimes you change your entire perception of what you thought you were making.

Until eventually, it’s finished.

And then it hangs on the wall.

Or, in my case, maybe the fridge.

I Wanted Art You Could Use

By my senior year of college, when it came time to create my final thesis show, I knew I wanted my work to be about the process as much as the finished product. But I also wanted that finished product to be functional.

I didn’t want to make something that existed only to hang on a wall.

I wanted to create art that could be used.

Now, you also need to understand that this was 2003. TLC was really popular, and some pretty crazy things were happening in home decor.

So naturally, my senior art show included a giant faux-fur neon orange couch—because apparently that seemed like a completely reasonable design decision in 2003.

Beauty was definitely in the eye of the beholder.

But the process was well executed.

And apparently, more than twenty years later, I’m realizing that maybe I’ve been fascinated by the same thing all along:

Transformation.

From Fiber to Soap

That desire to create something both beautiful and practical never really left.

After working with fibers—floor rugs, quilts, knitted wearables—moving into soap didn’t seem all that far-fetched when my children began having reactions to store-bought products.

Once again, I was creating with my hands. There was a process to learn, recipes to develop, and plenty of experimenting.

But something else started happening.

Creating something that could actually help heal an ailment became just as important to me as the creative process itself.

As Hilltop grew, so did my relationship with the Lord. My faith grew, and so did my expectancy for Him to move. I began praying very intentionally that Hilltop Designs would be a blessing to everyone it touched.

Then the testimonies started coming.

People would tell me how products were actually working after they had tried so many other things. Sometimes someone would come to me with a long list of products—or even prescriptions—that hadn’t helped.

My job was to listen.

What have you tried? What happened? What are you experiencing? What might be causing this?

Then I would research, pray, experiment, develop, adjust, and try again.

Sometimes what came out of that process felt like an answer to prayer.

Honestly, those moments never stopped blowing me away.

And Then I Closed the Store

When I closed the storefront, I honestly thought the creative part of me might be the part that was burned out.

And I was okay with that.

Toward the end, sales had become more sporadic, people’s buying habits had changed, and it became harder to get excited about spending hours developing something new when I wasn’t sure how it would be received.

And my marketing brain?

TIRED.

Social media. Daily content. Posting. Marketing.

I was SOOOO over it.

I was ready for a break.

Surprisingly, though, I didn’t feel a huge creative void. I think part of the reason was that God was already creating a new desire—a new fire—in me through my ministry work.

So I stepped away from Hilltop.

And then something really funny happened.

Do you know what I started missing?

Marketing.

Of all things!

The very thing that had fried my brain was one of the things I missed most. I missed creating content, working on my website, figuring out how to communicate something, and building a process for getting the word out.

I missed the smells, too.

There is something about scent that can take you anywhere. Building a fragrance that evokes a memory—or creating something that helps heal a wound and smells great?

True bonus.

There are things I absolutely do NOT miss, though.

Washing gross soapmaking dishes.

If you ever decide to get into the soapmaking business, stock up on Dawn Soap. I’m serious. Oils. Butters. Waxes.

Dawn is the real MVP.

I have zero nostalgia for those dishes.

Maybe I’m Still Doing the Same Thing

Then this past year, the Lord prompted me to begin writing something around the five senses.

One idea grew into another, and before I knew it, I had created an entire fast and workbook around what it means to not only know about God, but experience Him through taste, sight, hearing, touch, and smell.

I hope it will eventually become a devotional book. And actually, I’m working toward making the first version of this resource available here on the Hilltop site soon.

But while I was creating it, something happened that I wasn’t expecting.

The process felt incredibly familiar.

The divine inspiration. The ideas coming together. Following one thought and discovering that it led to another. Developing something, working through it, and ultimately creating a resource that I hoped would help someone else.

It felt natural.

It felt easy.

It was FUN.

And when the project was finished, God wasn’t finished with it. He eventually used that same material as part of a message I was able to share this summer at a prayer conference my church held.

That’s when I started recognizing something:

Maybe I’m still doing the same thing I’ve always done.

It just looks different.

External. Internal. Eternal.

For fourteen years at Hilltop, I learned how to listen well to people’s concerns.

Someone came with a problem. I listened. I asked questions. I tried to understand what was underneath it, and then I worked toward a solution.

Today, I spend a large amount of my time doing something remarkably similar.

Except now, people aren’t usually coming to me with concerns about their skin.

They’re sharing concerns of the heart, mind, and soul.

And I’ve realized:

I lean on the Lord in much the same way I did with those external issues—except now, I’m working with internal and eternal ones.

I’ve become increasingly passionate about healing, freedom, and wholeness.

How do we become more healed? How do we become free? How do we become whole? What is the process of allowing Jesus into the places inside of us that need His healing?

Because it doesn’t matter how beautiful the outside looks if the inside is a mess.

And there it is again.

The process.

Maybe Soap Was Just One Medium

That’s the part I don’t think I understood before.

I thought creativity meant taking a process and ending with a physical product—something I could put into another person’s hands.

A rug. A quilt. A bar of soap. A skincare product.

Something tangible.

Now I’m beginning to see creativity differently.

Maybe the physical product was never the point.

Maybe soap was simply one of the mediums God gave me for a season.

Today, the medium might be words. A devotional. A sermon. A conversation. A teaching. A graphic. A process that helps someone understand something they couldn’t see before.

The medium has changed.

But the mission really hasn’t.

Create something useful. Listen well. Help people. Point toward healing.

And above all, keep God at the center of the process.

So What Does Hilltop Become Now?

I have absolutely no idea.

And strangely…

I have a lot of peace about that.

I’m in no hurry to figure it out.

I don’t need to immediately turn this into another business plan. I don’t need to decide exactly what Hilltop Designs is supposed to become, and I certainly don’t need to recreate what it was.

I just want to follow the Lord’s leading.

I believe He’s calling me into a season with more writing, teaching, and speaking. I believe He’s continuing to deepen my understanding of healing and freedom. And I have ideas about things I would love to write and create.

Maybe there will be more new soap and deodorant, too.

I’m leaving room for that.

But I’m also leaving room for creativity to keep changing shape.

Because maybe that’s what creativity has always been about anyway.

Taking what we’re given. Listening. Learning. Trying. Shaping. Changing.

Layer upon layer.

Trusting the process even when we can’t quite see the finished work yet.

Until eventually we stand back and realize:

Oh. That’s what You were making.

So if you’re in a season where something you once loved has changed shape, maybe you don’t have to rush to figure out what comes next either.

Wait on the Lord. Spend time with Him. Don’t let fear keep you tied to what something used to look like.

And create—in whatever way God is calling you to create.

Maybe creativity isn’t reserved for artists. Maybe it’s part of how all of us participate in bringing the Kingdom of God into the places He has called us.

Different people. Different places. Different mediums. Different harvests.

And a whole lot of blank canvases still waiting to become something.

So here’s to calling all creatives.

I can’t wait to see what He makes next.