by Jennifer Greene-Sullivan
This afternoon, I found myself crying over more than one sketch. In fact, I have cried over ten pencil drawings from Joshua Wichterich, my illustrator. Not because they were sad… because this book and its theme, they have gone deeper into my heart than I ever expected. This creative process with this book has met me right where I am in this season of life. I am learning, slowly and honestly, not to despise the crushing.
Joshua sent over the first sketches for The Hidden Cove, and there he was—Marvin, my manatee. He looked peaceful, joyful, and completely at ease in a place I haven’t even fully explained or experienced yet. That first few images stopped me in a way I didn’t expect. It felt like more than a character on a page: it felt like something the Lord was showing me.
As I sat there, I realized that what I had been trying to write; someone else had already creatively experienced it. Joshua didn’t just draw a manatee because he captured a unique spiritual truth. Marvin wasn’t searching or struggling—he was simply present. There was a quiet trust in his posture, a calm that felt intentional, and suddenly, I recognized something familiar in that image.
This story I have written is the very place I have been living. Hidden, held, and learning to trust what I cannot yet see. All week, the Lord has been working on my heart in ways I didn’t anticipate. Earlier this week, He woke me up at 1:53 a.m., and what began as restlessness turned into repentance. That moment became a return, a laying down of things I had been holding onto for far too long.
Just a few days later, I sat down to write my column about love—about the tongue, about grace, and about what it truly means to walk in love. I didn’t realize then how connected these moments were becoming. Now, looking at Marvin, I see it clearly. The message I was writing is the same lesson God is teaching me.
I never told Joshua to draw Marvin this way. I didn’t script that expression or describe that posture. Yet there it was—joy before understanding, peace before answers, and trust in the unseen. That is what undid me. Because sometimes, the Lord shows us what He is doing in our lives through the very work we think we are creating.
Scripture reminds us that this kind of work is not always comfortable. “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair…” (2 Corinthians 4:8, ESV). I have felt the weight of that this week. There has been pressure, correction, and a deep awareness of where my heart has needed to change. Yet, even in that, I have not been abandoned. I have been held.
Today in this special moment, the story stopped feeling like something I was producing and began to feel like something reflecting back at me. It became a reminder that I don’t have to force my way through the unknown. I don’t have to rush ahead or demand clarity before I am ready. I can exist in a place I don’t fully understand yet and still be safe, still be held, and still be okay by the Author and Creator of my life–JESUS!
The Lord is the potter, and I am the clay. “The vessel he was making… was spoiled in the potter’s hand, and he reworked it into another vessel, as it seemed good to the potter to do” (Jeremiah 18:4, ESV). That is what this season feels like: not destruction, but reworking; not rejection, but intentional shaping.
Marvin, my manatee, isn’t frantic, and he isn’t trying to figure everything out. He is simply present in the place he has been given. That realization settled deeply in my spirit; it reminded me that I don’t have to have everything mapped out because I trust the One who does. Sometimes, I am simply meant to rest in the hidden place and let Him work around me.
I didn’t expect to cry over a children’s book sketches today, but maybe that’s the point. “For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness…” (Hebrews 12:11, ESV). This project was never just about writing a story; it was about learning to live out my faith it in real time.
Sometimes, the story I am writing is the very place God is meeting me to mature me.
Before I close, I want to say how deeply grateful I am for Joshua Wichterich. His talent, his time, and his willingness to steward what I can only describe as God-given, prophetic art have meant more to me than I can fully express. What he has drawn is not just illustration—it is insight, reflection, and confirmation of what the Lord is doing beneath the surface.
Reflection
There are seasons when God does not simply comfort us—He forms us, and forming requires pressure. It requires surrender. It often requires letting go of the version of ourselves we thought we needed to be so that He can shape something deeper, something truer, something more aligned with Him.
The crushing is not rejection. It is not evidence that something has gone wrong.
It is often the very place where God is doing His most intentional work—pressing out what does not belong, refining what remains, and preparing us to carry what we could not hold before as we rest in a place we do not yet fully understand. We are invited into something difficult and beautiful at the same time.
To trust before clarity.
To rest before resolution.
To believe that even here—especially here—God is not finished.
Prayer
Lord,
Thank You for meeting me in the places I do not fully understand. Thank You for loving me enough not to leave me where I am, but to continue shaping and forming my heart. Help me not to despise the crushing. When the pressure feels overwhelming, remind me that You are not breaking me—you are refining me. You are removing what does not belong and making room for something new.
Teach me to trust You in the hidden places. Give me the grace to rest, even when I do not have answers. Help me to release control and to believe that You are working, even when I cannot yet see the outcome. Let my life reflect Your peace, not because everything is clear, but because You are near. And as You continue this work in me, help me to walk forward with a heart that is soft, surrendered, and ready to receive all that You are preparing.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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The Aging English Major 