A Crown, a Feather and a Very Big Heart
When a playful experiment became a gentle mirror, and the Father reminded me who He made me to be
📖"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them."
🕯️ Some of the sweetest conversations with God begin with laughter.
Today I did something just for fun. I uploaded a photo and asked AI to invent a cartoon mascot for my personality. I gave no hints and made no suggestions; I simply let it decide. I expected something silly, perhaps a paintbrush with legs or a teacup with spectacles. What came back made me laugh out loud, then it made me very quiet.
There she sat: a purple elephant, splashed in pinks, turquoise and gold, trunk lifted high with a paintbrush dripping fuchsia. A golden crown sat a little crookedly on her head. Around her neck hung a golden heart with a single white feather. Her name was HeARTsie, and her tagline read Big Heart. Brighter Colours. Beside her stood a cartoon version of me in my paint-splattered apron and gold glitter sneakers, leaning on her shoulder as if we'd been friends forever.
I smiled, and somewhere deep inside, something shifted.
✍️ I've been carrying a quiet ache these past weeks. My name, Trixi, means bringer of joy, yet somewhere along the way I stopped calling myself that. Not in a dramatic way, more like a song you once loved that slowly drifts out of your daily playlist. Life grew heavy in places. Holding space for broken hearts can leave colour on your own apron that isn't always bright. Without even noticing, I'd tucked the joyful part of me away, as though it were a lesser gift than the serious work of healing.
Then along comes a purple elephant with paint on her trunk, reminding me of who I am.
🪨 Here's the truth I'm sitting with: the Father doesn't make mistakes when He shapes a heart. He didn't fashion me by accident: colourful, emotional, creative and a little messy around the edges. Ephesians says I'm His workmanship, His poiema, His work of art. Like a potter at the wheel, He pressed His fingerprints into every curve of who I am, and the joy He placed in me was never meant to be an optional extra. It's part of the glaze.
🕯️ I keep looking at the details. An elephant never forgets, and I pray I never forget the faithfulness of a God who has carried me through every broken season: from Germany to South Africa to Aotearoa, through grief and seasons of shattered pottery that He gathered up and mended with gold. Like kintsugi, the cracks haven't disappeared; they've become the places the light catches.
The crown reminds me whose daughter I am. It isn't a crown I earned or polished myself. It was placed there by a King who calls me His own, and even when it sits a little crookedly, it's still mine.
🕊️ My favourite detail is the feather. One soft white feather, hanging from a golden heart. It took me straight to the Psalms.
📖 "He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler." — Psalm 91:4 (NKJV)
Every brushstroke I make, every safe space I hold, every story of restoration I've had the privilege to witness, has flowed from resting under those wings first. I can't pour out colour into the lives of others unless I've first been held. Holy Spirit whispered gently as I looked at that feather: You don't have to carry the heaviness to prove you care. Rest here, and let joy rise again.
🌱 There's a holy kind of freedom in that. Joy isn't the opposite of depth; it's often the fruit of it. The broken-hearted don't only need someone who understands their tears. They also need someone who can remind them that colour is coming back, that ashes can become beauty and that the One who heals is also the One who delights. A big heart and brighter colours. Both can live in the same vessel.
✍️ Perhaps that's why the cartoon version of me looks so at ease, leaning on that elephant's shoulder. She's not striving. She's not trying to be serious enough or spiritual enough. She's simply standing beside joy, letting it hold some of her weight.
I think I'd like to live like that again.
So today I'm picking the joy back up. Not as a performance or a mask, but as a gift returned to its rightful owner. I'm Trixi, a bringer of joy, a daughter with a slightly crooked crown, paint on her hands and a feather close to her heart. 🕊️
My story for His glory, changing the world🌏 one 💔heart💖 at a time. — Patrizia
Dear one, if your colours have faded a little lately, please know that they haven't been lost. The Potter still holds the clay, and He knows every shade He placed within you. Rest under His wings for a while. Let Him tend to the cracks with gold. Joy has a way of finding its way home again, often when we least expect it, sometimes even wearing a crown and holding a paintbrush. 💜
- Is there a part of who God made you to be that you've quietly set aside along the way? 🤔
- When you imagine yourself resting under His feathers, what weight would you love to lay down first? 🤔
- Which of your "cracks" might the Father be filling with gold, turning them into places where His light shines through? 🤔
- If Holy Spirit gave your heart a tagline today, what do you think it would say? 🤔
- How might you make space for holy joy this week, even in the middle of something heavy? 🤔
I am His workmanship, lovingly shaped and fully known. My cracks are mended with gold, and my colours were placed in me on purpose. I belong under His wings, crowned as His daughter and covered by His faithfulness. The joy He planted in me is rising again, and I carry it freely to a world that needs to see the beauty of His restoration.
Abba Father, thank You for meeting me in the most unexpected places, even in a moment of laughter over a purple elephant. Thank You for reminding me that I'm Your workmanship and that nothing You placed in me was an accident. Where I've tucked away joy beneath heaviness, gently draw it out again. Where I've tried to carry everything on my own, cover me with Your feathers and teach me to rest beneath Your wings. Holy Spirit, breathe fresh colour into the places that have grown grey. Fill my cracks with Your golden light so that others might see You shining through. Let my heart stay big and my colours stay bright, not for my own glory, but so the broken-hearted may glimpse the beauty of Your love and find their way home to You. I lay down striving and pick up Your joy as my strength. In Jesus' Name, Amen.
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