The Happy Butterfly LLC

10/11/2025

We’re heading into Day Three of the Shrimp Festival, and like I shared last night, we’ve been leaving super early and getting home super late — much different than any festival we’ve ever done. Because of that, I haven’t had much time to sit and write the stories I love to share.

But y’all… these past couple of days have been something special.
Different — in the sweetest kind of way.

The Lord’s been stirring my heart. I can’t quite explain it yet, but I know He’s up to something — showing me new things and reminding me how many hurting people there are in this world. I’ll share those deeper moments soon, once I’ve had time to let the words settle in where they need to.

But for now, I want to share a happy little moment that still makes me smile.

Yesterday was a beautiful day — a little windy at times — but full of kind faces and steady crowds. And all throughout the day, I started noticing something special. One after another, people walked into my booth and said things like:

“Oh my goodness, I just bought this in Tennessee!”
“I saw these in a store in Virginia!”
“We have these in North Carolina!”

Then one lady looked at me and said,

“So you buy from that person and sell them at festivals?”

I couldn’t help but grin and said, “No ma’am, this is my artwork.”

Her eyes got big. “Wait… these are yours? I just bought these!”

Y’all, it wasn’t pride I felt — it was the sweetest, humblest kind of gratitude.
Because even though I’ve only been doing wholesale for one year, the number of stores that now carry The Happy Butterfly has grown so fast it just takes my breath away.

That’s the goodness of God right there.

People travel from all over the United States to come to the Shrimp Festival, and it was so special to meet folks from Tennessee, Virginia, the Carolinas, and several from Saraland, where I’m in Fru Fru LuLu’s Gifts And Decor. A few of them smiled and said,

“You need to tell Shana to get more of these!”
“She sells your prettiest things — tell her to restock!”

And then came the sweetest moment of all — a little girl came bouncing in with the biggest grin and said,

“I see your stuff everywhere!”

She pointed to piece after piece — ones she already had and the ones she wanted next. Her excitement just melted me.

Then, right in the middle of that busy crowd, someone said,

“Oh my goodness, look — a butterfly just landed on your artwork!”

I didn’t even have my phone with me, but she quickly snapped a picture for me —
a real butterfly, sitting right there on one of my works.

And right then, I just stopped and took it in.

Because I don’t believe in coincidences — not with things like that.
I believe God sends sweet reminders at just the right time to say,
“I’m here with you.”
“I have this.”
“I’m in control.”

It was such a tender reminder that this isn’t really my story at all — it’s His.
He’s the one weaving every thread, guiding every step, and sending every butterfly right where it belongs.

And as I stood there watching that tiny winged reminder, I just took a deep breath and whispered a quiet thank You.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all I really want —
to live a life that shares His peace, His love, and His truth…
one little butterfly at a time. 💜

10/11/2025

Shrimp Festival — The Goodness of God💜😊🦋

Hey y’all, I just wanted to take a minute to check in.
I’ve started a little tradition of sharing about the goodness of God at each festival — the people He places in my path, and the moments that remind me He’s near.

And the past twp days… I’m still trying to find the words.

Today has been one of those days that leaves you quiet on the drive home — when you just sit there in awe of how tenderly God moves through ordinary moments.

On the very same day we introduced our new men’s line — “Forged by the Word. Armed by the Spirit.” — I met two men whose stories I’ll never forget. Both had walked through deep pain and loss, and somehow, right there outside my booth, the Lord allowed our paths to cross.

There were tears. There were hugs. There was prayer.
And there was the unmistakable presence of God.

At one point, one of them turned to me and said,

“You might think you’re just running a little craft booth…
but you have no idea what you’ve done for me today.”

And y’all, I just stood there — undone.

That wasn’t me. That was God.
Only He could take a tent full of “stuff” and and turn it into holy ground.

God has been so good.
So kind.
So near.

And I just need a little time to sit with all of it — to pray, to reflect, and to find the right words to tell these stories the way they deserve to be told.💜

10/10/2025

New from The Happy Butterfly: “Forged by the Word. Armed by the Spirit.”

Y’all, I haven’t even had a chance to share this yet — but we are so excited about what’s next for The Happy Butterfly!

For months now, JR and I have felt God nudging our hearts to expand — not to change direction, but to go deeper into what our business has always been about: grace, transformation, and restoration.

So today, we’re thrilled to introduce something brand new — our first-ever men’s line.

JR has been working on a Bible study, and through that, God placed this powerful design on his heart:
“Forged by the Word. Armed by the Spirit.”

It’s bold. It’s strong. It’s a daily reminder of what equips us to face the world — not our own strength, but His Word and His Spirit.

And right alongside it, we’re releasing our new Happy Butterfly tumbler — the one that tells our story from beginning to end:
From the cocoon to the butterfly, it’s the picture of how God’s grace transforms brokenness into beauty.
Grace. Transformation. Restoration.

This is what The Happy Butterfly has always been about — and we couldn’t be more excited to bring that same message of hope and renewal to a new line that represents both men and women walking out their faith every day.

These cups were finalized late last night, and we’re just over here thanking God and smiling like kids on Christmas morning.

We truly believe this is the beginning of a new chapter — one that lets us share not just our art, but our hearts.

Forged by the Word. Armed by the Spirit.
Grace. Transformation. Restoration.
All things made beautiful — through Him.

10/09/2025

10/08/2025

🦐 Shrimp Festival Setup Chronicles: Hot Flashes, Hotel Shoppers & Humble Pie 😅

Y’all. I honestly couldn’t tell if I was having a hot flash or if the Lord just decided to preheat the entire Gulf Coast today. Either way, I was sizzling. 🔥

And let’s not forget the fact that I had on one compression sock. Just one. I had to cancel my surgery because it was my grandbaby’s birthday (priorities, right?), but I’m still supposed to wear the thing. I swear that coral colored sock added at least forty extra degrees to my body temperature. I looked like a sweaty flamingo trying to set up a tent. 🦩

I was out there setting up for the Shrimp Festival — pouring sweat, hair plastered to my head like I’d been baptized right there in the ocean — right in front of the brand-new hotel that was still under construction last year. Apparently, I became the entertainment because folks were sitting on their balconies watching me work like it was the Macy’s Parade. 🎺

I hollered up, “Y’all having fun watching me sweat?”
And one lady called back, “Can I come shop?”
Then about seven more voices echoed her — I’m talking full-blown balcony choir. 😂

Now, I wish I could say I handled the rest of the day with grace and good humor. But, friends… I did not. Somewhere around hour eight, I turned into a grumpy bear. 🐻

People would stop and ask, “How much is this?”
And I’d say, “I really have no idea.” (Which is the truth — my husband handles all the pricing because I can’t keep up with that stuff to save my life.)

Then someone would say, “That’s so cute!”
And I’d mumble, “Eh… it might’ve been eight hours ago, but not anymore.” 😅
At this point I realized — I have way too much stuff. Like, WAY too much. I’ve got enough door hangers and toppers to decorate half of Baldwin County. I’ve got to narrow this down before I end up needing my own storage unit at the festival.

One sweet lady asked, “Can I please go ahead and buy something?”
I said, “No ma’am, sorry.”
She looked at me like I was running an exclusive boutique with a velvet rope and a secret password.

And to top it all off — when I finally went to put the sides up on my tent, I realized I’d attached every single zipper on the wrong side. Every. Single. One. So I just tied all the Velcro together in cute little knots and called it artistic innovation. My husband’s gonna see it tomorrow and remember exactly who I am— a creative spirit, not a logistic one. 😂

So yes, it was hot. Yes, I was cranky. And yes, my tent now looks like it was assembled by a toddler with a glue stick. But it’s festival time, y’all, and I wouldn’t trade this crazy, sweaty, joy-filled life for anything. 💜😊🦋

10/08/2025

Y’all, it never fails — every festival I go to comes with a story.
It’s always a God encounter, every single time.
And it’s almost always with someone who doesn’t even realize they’re about to become part of one of my stories.

This woman definitely didn’t.

We arrived at the Shrimp Festival grounds Tuesday evening just to drop off the big pieces and head home. I figured it’d be a quick trip, but by the time we made it back, it was near midnight. My car decided it wanted to stay at the festival.😬

Now, the people in Gulf Shores couldn’t be kinder — truly. They work so hard to make it all flow smoothly. But when there are hundreds of booths and barricades and people everywhere, it can get a little confusing finding your place.

I was easing along, looking for my spot, when a woman walked over and asked, “Are you in fine arts or arts and crafts?”

I smiled and said, “Arts and crafts.”

She looked at me and said, “Well, this is fine arts.”
Then again, “You don’t belong here. You belong over there.”

She wasn’t hateful, but her words carried a tone that made the space feel smaller somehow — divided.

Then she asked, “What’s the name of your business?”
“The Happy Butterfly,” I told her.

She paused, wrinkled her nose, and asked, “And how does that reflect art?”

I said, “It doesn’t. It reflects God’s grace.”

She looked surprised and said, “So… you’re selling Bibles?”

I smiled and said, “No ma’am — though honestly, that’s a great idea. I might need to look into that one.”

It was one of those moments that could’ve gone sideways — where pride could’ve answered pride. But I felt this quiet nudge in my spirit that said, Choose grace.

So I did.

I found my spot, unloaded my things, and as the moon rose over Gulf Shores, I thought about her words. Not in frustration, but with gratitude. Because that conversation reminded me why I do this — why The Happy Butterfly exists at all.

It’s not about the art. It’s about the invitation.
The welcome.
The joy that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Before we left, she said, “Well, maybe you should put a warning sign out front if your plan is to spread joy.”
And I smiled and said, “Oh no, ma’am — it’s nothing but welcome here.”

Because grace doesn’t need permission to enter. It just shows up.
Sometimes it wears paint on its hands and a tired smile after midnight.
Sometimes it shows up right in the middle of a fine arts section, quietly proving that love doesn’t need labels.

And that’s the story I’ll remember — not about division or frustration, but about the holy hush that happens when you choose kindness instead of defense.

Because that’s where the real art is found. 💜😊🦋

10/07/2025

I stopped by the Gulf Shores Chamber to check in, and the lady behind the counter looked up and said,
“I know you — you’re The Happy Butterfly! I follow you on Facebook, and I know you just got a pedicure.”
I smiled real big and said, “Yes! That’s me — with the 88-year-old woman.” 💛

Y’all… it made me so happy that she didn’t just recognize my products — she’d read the story.
That meant more to me than she’ll ever know. 😊🦋

10/07/2025

“Eyes to See”

For the woman beside me who reminded me that seeing is more than sight.

There I was again, sitting behind that great big machine — the one that huffs a tiny puff of air into your eyes and tells you, “Focus on the green light. Stay still. Don’t blink.”
You know the one. The lights flash, the lenses click, and for a few minutes you sit there in the stillness, letting a robot decide what you can and cannot see.

It was a very thorough exam.

I hadn’t gone because something felt wrong — at least, not really. I’d just discovered that I’d somehow managed to wear two pairs of contacts at once. (If you saw yesterday’s post, you already know that story. 🤦🏻‍♀️) I figured maybe I’d scratched my lens.

My eye doctor — kindest man you’ll ever meet, and young enough to be my son — chuckled when I told him. “Let’s roll those eyes around,” he said, “make sure there aren’t any more hiding in there.”

After a round of pictures, lights, and a few “Better one… or two?”s, he leaned back and started naming things I didn’t expect to hear.

I’m now on steroid drops for inflammation.
I’ve been placed in UV-protected daily lenses for severe sun damage.

Living in the South, I love the beach and I love the sunshine — so being told I have some sun damage didn’t surprise me. What I didn’t realize until yesterday was just how much those beautiful UV rays can actually affect your eyes, or that they even make contact lenses with built-in UV protection. Pretty incredible if you ask me!

Then came the harder words: glaucoma and early warning signs of macular degeneration.

He said in about two years, I’ll need surgery, and that when I do, I’ll probably have the best vision of my life.

I sat there staring through the blur of those big round lenses, thinking, Well, isn’t that something? Eye surgery wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. And even though he tried to assure me it wasn’t just an age thing, I still left that office feeling older than when I’d walked in.

That’s how the day started.

Hours later, when I had no business doing anything else, I found myself sitting in another chair — the big kind that reclines back with warm water bubbling below and the faint smell of nail polish in the air.

I’d squeezed in a pedicure between the A/C man, a glued-together finger (and apparently that’s fine), and Shrimp Festival prep. I hadn’t done anything like that for months. But somehow, God had saved me a seat.

A woman in a wheelchair was rolled up beside me. The nail tech was describing the color she’d picked out — a pale, shimmery pink — and I leaned over and said, “That’s such a beautiful color.”

She smiled, tilting her head toward me. “I can’t see it,” she said softly. “I’m legally blind.”

Her voice was gentle, calm, steady. She told me she was eighty-eight — soon to be ninety — and that after heart surgery years ago, her body never quite recovered. “There’s no reason I should even be sitting here,” she said. “I spent a year in the hospital and the nursing home. Couldn’t walk, couldn’t even stand long enough to brush my teeth.”

I remember telling her, “Growing old is a blessing.”

She smiled wide and said, “It doesn’t always feel like it, honey. But it is. You’ll have trials and disappointments, but if you live long enough, you’ll start to see how even the hard things were blessings, too.”

Her words hung in the air, soft and sure.

She told me about that long year — how she learned to do what she could, not to mourn what she couldn’t. “At eighty-eight,” she said, “I do what I can. I rest when I need to. I went on a cruise last year. Couldn’t do all the things, but that was okay. I was there.”

Then she told me about sunsets. “I try to see every one I can,” she said. “I watch the sun go down and I think, I made it through another day. I try to see the sunrise, too — but the sunsets… those are my favorite.”

Before she left, I asked what advice she’d give me. She took my hand — hers was warm and light, like a whisper — and said,

“Be amazed every single day. Every single day you wake up is a blessing. No matter how you feel, no matter what you’re facing, find one blessing and glorify God in it.”

Then she smiled toward the gentleman beside her — her first crush from when she was eleven years old. After sixty years of marriage and losing her husband, God had brought her childhood sweetheart back into her life to walk her home.

When she was wheeled away, I just sat there for a moment — blinking through my “glaucoma eyes,” watching the polish dry, feeling something far deeper settle in.

Because maybe the whole day hadn’t been about my sight at all. Maybe it was about my vision.

That morning, I’d been told about lenses and surgeries and things that fade with time. But that afternoon, God sat me next to a woman who showed me what never fades: gratitude, grace, and the ability to still see beauty in every single day.

And as I thought about my new “My Cup Runneth Over” collection — that little teacup with the pumpkin sitting inside — it all made sense.
The group meeting of hurting women, the painting, Sunday mornings sermon, this moment. Overflow and gratitude. Blessing and perspective.

I had no business being in that chair, but God had business being there with me.

And I left reminded of this truth:
Sometimes the clearest vision doesn’t come from healthy eyes.
It comes from a heart that keeps seeing God’s goodness… even when the picture’s a little blurry.
And that gratitude won’t erase the pain, but it will remind you that joy and sorrow have always shared the same table.

10/06/2025

Well, bless it. The Shrimp Festival’s not even here yet, and I’ve already lived a whole month’s worth of “you can’t make this stuff up” moments in one weekend.

It all started with the air conditioner deciding it had done all it could do and said, “I’m done, y’all.” Now, I realize it’s October, but this is South Alabama — where “fall” just means your pumpkin melts slower. We were sweating like we were in a July revival under a tent with no breeze, trying to load boxes and pretend we were fine.

Then, because I’m a genius, I thought it’d be “smart” to rent a U-Haul on Sunday. I told JR it’d give us all afternoon to load up. Y’all. It rained all day. Not a gentle sprinkle either — we’re talkin’ flash flood warnings right down the road.
By the time we hauled everything to the trailer, our yard had turned into a mud wrestling pit. Shoes were suctioned clean off, and at one point, I’m fairly certain I baptized a bush.

Somewhere in the middle of that, I managed to gash my finger wide open with a box cutter — and bled all over about twenty folded tea towels. (I’ve been told my whole life not to touch sharp things, and clearly, that was solid advice.)

As if that wasn’t enough, I spent all day yesterday thinking my vision had gone fuzzy from exhaustion… only to realize late last night that I’d been wearing two pairs of contacts in each eye. Two. Per. Eye. No wonder I was seeing double — the Lord gave me 20/20 twice. Let’s just chalk it up to those 3 a.m. work mornings and leave it there.

And right when I thought we’d seen it all, I walked in the house last night to find a giant gecko — I’m talking small-bearded-dragon-sized — lounging in my kitchen like he paid rent. Pretty sure he came in through the open door while we were out wrestling boxes in the rain.

Then, as I’m in the middle of packing and trying to get a handle on the chaos, my phone rings — it’s a man from the bank who doesn’t speak much English. He says, “Ma’am, did you just give someone permission to use your card at Louis’s?”
And I’m thinking, Who in the world is Louis, and what does he sell?
He repeats it — “Louis’s.”
I say, “No, I did not.”
So he says, “Okay, we will close your account immediately.”
Fast forward to later, when I finally realize the poor man was trying to say Lowe’s — where my husband was picking up wood. So on the very week I needed every dime of cash flow, my business account was shut down tighter than a jar of pickles at a church picnic. I just sat there and laughed till I cried.

So yeah. We’re hot, muddy, half-blind, slightly broke, and apparently running a reptile rescue now.
Which can only mean one thing…

My guess? God’s up to something really, really good — like extra spectacular this weekend at the Shrimp Festival. 💜😊🦋

On a side note — I’ve got an eye specialist at 8 a.m. to make sure I didn’t scratch my eyeball, and the exterminator’s coming at 9 to make sure that gecko didn’t bring friends. After that, I might just sit real still, drink my coffee, and let the Lord handle the rest.
Happy Monday💜💜💜

10/05/2025

My Cup Overfloweth

A few weeks ago, I found myself sitting in a room full of women. Beautiful, brave women — each one rescued from things too heavy for most hearts to carry. Some were still trembling. Some were quiet, eyes down. Some clutched their cups of coffee like it was the only thing keeping them steady.

The lady leading the group spoke with such gentleness, the kind that fills a space before she even says a word. She began with something familiar — that old saying we’ve all heard before:

“You can’t pour from an empty cup. You have to fill your own first.”

I smiled a little when she said it, thinking how many times I’ve seen that line printed on T-shirts and coffee mugs. But then she paused and said something that settled right into my chest:

“Filling your cup is a choice. It’s intentional. Every single day, you decide what you pour into it — grace, goodness, bitterness, or blame. You get to choose.”

That’s when I felt the tears come.

Because I know about God’s grace. I’ve lived it, leaned on it, clung to it in my darkest days. But showing myself grace? That’s where I struggle. I replay my mistakes like a record stuck on repeat — words I wish I could take back, moments I meant one way but were taken another. I can forgive just about anybody, but I don’t always forgive me.

As I sat there listening, I thought about my collection of teacups — gathered over nearly thirty years. Some are chipped, some stained, some not quite a matching set anymore. But each one has a story.

And then I thought about the one my oldest son and daughter-in-law gave me last Mother’s Day — the one with the tiny blue butterfly. I could almost see it in my mind, delicate and full of life.

That night, when I got home, I went straight to my studio and began painting again. Not just to make something pretty, but to remember. To remind myself that the same God who fills oceans and skies is still willing to fill me, too — cracks, stains, and all.

That’s how this new collection began — My Cup Overfloweth.

It’s a reminder that even in the hardest seasons, we can choose what we pour in. We can fill our hearts with gratitude instead of guilt, grace instead of grief, hope instead of hurry.

To every woman who’s ever felt empty — may you remember: you are still worthy of being filled. And may your cup overflow with every good thing God intended for you. 💙

⸻

The Happy Butterfly Collection was created to remind us that beauty can rise even from brokenness.😊🦋

FYI — this design isn’t in its complete form just yet.
Three more cups are already in the works, each one carrying its own little story of grace and overflow. ☕