Last Thanksgiving, I escaped for a few hours.

Not because I needed a break from my family, but because I needed some space to think.

My amazing husband, Jim, has always been incredibly supportive of my dreams, even the ones that begin as half-formed ideas scribbled in my notebook (or changing careers). While we were at the beach house, he took over kid duty and encouraged me to spend some intentional time alone to think, reflect, and soul search about my goals for 2026.

So I grabbed my notebook and a beach chair and headed down to the sand.

One of the things I love most about Crystal Beach that time of year is how empty it feels. There are no crowds, no noise, and no distractions. It was just me, my notebook, my toes in the sand, and the sound of the waves rolling in.

I wasn’t doing anything unusual.

I was working on my goals for the upcoming year.

I’ve always been an early goal setter. While most people wait until January, I like to start thinking through the next year well before it arrives. I want to hit January 1st with clarity and momentum rather than spending the first few weeks figuring out what I want the year to look like.

So I started making my lists.

Business goals.

Financial goals.

Family goals.

Health goals.

The usual.

The goals themselves weren’t the problem. They were good goals and reflected things that genuinely matter to me. As I looked over the list, though, I realized nearly every goal was connected to taking care of someone else, growing a business, supporting my family, or meeting a responsibility. Those are all worthwhile pursuits, but I couldn’t remember the last time I had intentionally set a goal that existed simply because it excited me.

That realization sat heavily with me as I listened to the waves.

Somewhere along the way, I had become very good at setting goals that served everyone around me. But when was the last time I had given myself permission to pursue something that felt wildly ambitious, deeply personal, and completely unnecessary?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized there was one idea that kept resurfacing.

A children’s book.

It wasn’t some brilliant new revelation I had while sitting on the beach. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a dream I had carried around for years.

Every now and then I would pull it off the shelf in my mind, think about it for a while, and then put it right back where I found it.

I was always too busy.

The timing wasn’t right.

I had other priorities.

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

But the idea never completely disappeared.

Part of it came from conversations with my own children. Like many parents, I’ve had moments where my kids asked big questions about Heaven, loss, and what happens after we die. Those conversations stayed with me.

I have also found myself thinking about grief differently over the years. Not just how painful it can be, but how powerful it can be when it is transformed into something that brings comfort, hope, or healing to someone else.

Somewhere along the way, those thoughts began to take shape as a story.

A story about Heaven.

A story about wonder.

A story that might help children process some of life’s biggest questions through imagination, faith, and hope.

As I sat there with my notebook in the sand, I finally stopped asking whether it was practical and started asking a different question:

If not now, when?

So I wrote it down.

One Big Wild Goal for 2026: Write and self-publish a children’s book

At the time, it felt almost ridiculous. I knew very little about publishing and had no experience with illustrations, book launches, ISBN numbers, printing, or marketing. If I’m honest, I had no idea how to bring a children’s book into the world. I just knew the idea wouldn’t leave me alone.

So I made a commitment to myself.

And then something unexpected happened.

The moment I committed to the goal, it started changing me.

The book became more than a book.

It challenged me to learn new things, ask for help, embrace being a beginner again, and take action before I felt fully prepared. It pushed me outside of my comfort zone in ways I never anticipated. It also sent me back to my Bible, digging into what Scripture actually says as a foundation for the story I wanted to tell.

That’s when I started to realize that maybe the point of a Big Wild Goal isn’t simply achieving it.

Maybe the point is who you become while pursuing it.

Today, I’m deep in the process of bringing Jonner and the Stuffed Animal Mansion into the world.

The dream that once existed only in my imagination now has pages, artwork, deadlines, and an October 2026 launch date.

The funny thing is that when I wrote this goal down, I thought the goal was to publish a book. Looking back, I think the real goal was becoming the kind of person who isn’t afraid to say a dream out loud, put herself out there, and do whatever it takes to make it happen, even when there’s no guarantee of success and every step requires a little vulnerability and a lot of faith.

A few weeks after that afternoon on the beach, Christmas arrived.

Among the gifts under the tree was something completely unexpected: hot pink LLC paperwork for Big Wild Goal, LLC.

My husband had quietly taken steps to turn my dream into something real, establishing Big Wild Goal, LLC as a woman-owned business and giving this little idea in my notebook a foundation to grow from.

Not because there was a manuscript.

Not because I had a launch date.

Not because I had proven any of this was going to work.

But because he believed in it.

Looking back, I realize that piece of paper represented something much bigger than a business entity. It represented belief. Before there was artwork, a website, or a publishing plan, there was someone willing to say, “You’ve got a Big Wild Goal. I am confident that you will reach it.”

What a gift.

I’m still figuring out how to share and spread the idea of a Big Wild Goal in a way that inspires others to pursue one of their own. And yes, I’ve even caught myself wondering: is it too soon to start thinking about my 2027 Big Wild Goal? Maybe it’s something truly Wild, like starting my own recruiting company or taking on a challenge that pushes me far beyond what feels comfortable today.

Because I know I’m not the only person carrying around a dream they’ve quietly talked themselves out of pursuing.

Maybe yours is writing a book.

Maybe it’s starting a business.

Maybe it’s changing careers.

Maybe it’s learning to paint, running a marathon, traveling somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, overcoming a fear that’s been holding you back, or doing something wildly unexpected for someone like you. Maybe it’s finally giving yourself permission to try something that has absolutely no guarantee of success.

I don’t know exactly where this journey will lead.

What I do know is that one quiet afternoon on an empty beach changed something in me.

For the first time in a long time, I gave myself permission to pursue a goal that wasn’t rooted in obligation. It was rooted in curiosity, creativity, and possibility.

And that has made all the difference.

Looking back, it’s funny how much can change because of one quiet afternoon.

I have no idea what future Big Wild Goal may be waiting for me, but I’m grateful I finally had the courage to start this one.

And something tells me I’m not the only person carrying around a dream that’s waiting to be written down.

The funny thing is that Jonner’s room wasn’t imagined from scratch. It began with a little boy’s room in Keller, Texas. Tucker’s train tent, favorite books, stuffed animals, and bedtime routines all found their way into the story. Looking at the illustrations now feels a bit like opening a family photo album and discovering it has become part of a dream.

Tucker has always had a big imagination. His room has changed over the years, but one thing has remained constant: stuffed animals.

And lots of them.

Not just a few sitting neatly on a shelf. An entire zoo.

Yes, that is a real photo. You should notice several that served as inspiration, including Jonner himself, hanging off the Zoo sign!

And yes, there are that many stuffed animals.

Some are old friends. Some are favorites. A few probably need a bath.

As I worked with my illustrator on Jonner and the Stuffed Animal Mansion, I used Tucker’s room as inspiration. Looking at the finished artwork for the first time felt a little surreal. What had once been a pile of stuffed animals, bedtime routines, and family conversations was suddenly becoming a real book.

One thing I’ve learned through this process is that there is a huge difference between imagining a story and seeing it come to life.

For months, these scenes existed only in my head. Then they became rough sketches. Then conversations. Then revisions. Sometimes more revisions. And eventually, they became paintings.

Watching that transformation has been one of my favorite parts of the journey.

This was the final original sketch for Jonner’s bedroom. You can already see all of the details that made the final version, but it still amazes me how much personality emerges between a pencil sketch and a finished painting.

This illustration doesn’t show the mansion.

It doesn’t show the Father’s House.

It doesn’t show the adventure waiting behind the doors.

It’s simply Jonner in his room.

And yet, it may be one of the most important pages in the entire book.

Before readers can believe in a stuffed animal mansion, they have to believe the stuffed animals matter.

Before they can follow Jonner on an adventure, they have to understand why he loves these little companions so much in the first place. I know how much Tucker loves his stuffed animals.

As I looked at the finished pages, I found myself lingering on a simple prayer that appears near the beginning of the story.

I remember when this page was nothing more than a rough drawing and a single question.

A question that felt simple enough for a child to ask, yet deep enough for adults to ponder too.

“Dear God...

What is heaven like?

Are our favorite things there?

And the people we love, too?”

Interestingly, the title of this article wasn’t part of the original manuscript.

In the earliest sketch, Jonner simply asked, “What is heaven like?”

As the story evolved, another question quietly found its way onto the page:

“Are our favorite things there?”

The more I sat with it, the more I realized that question might be at the heart of the entire book.

When I first wrote those words, I thought they belonged to Jonner.

Now I’m not so sure.

I think they belong to all of us.

Children have a remarkable way of asking questions that go straight to the heart of things. They don’t usually ask complicated theological questions. They ask whether they will see Grammy again. They ask whether the people they miss are waiting for them. They ask whether heaven feels far away or whether it feels like home.

As a Christian, my hope rests in Jesus and His promise that He has gone to prepare a place for us. When He speaks about His Father’s House, I don’t picture something cold, distant, or unfamiliar. I picture a place prepared with love by Someone who knows us completely.

That perspective has shaped every page of Jonner and the Stuffed Animal Mansion.

The mansion is simply the setting. At its heart, this is a story about comfort, belonging, imagination, and hope.

It’s about helping children imagine heaven through the lens of Jesus rather than fear, inviting them to picture a loving Father who knows each of His children personally and delights in preparing a unique place for each one in His Father’s House. A place where we remain connected to the people we love while always being connected to Him, surrounded by His presence, care, and love.

It’s about reminding them that they are deeply known and deeply loved. They do not need to have fear.

And perhaps that is why I keep returning to that simple question:

Are our favorite things there?

I don’t pretend to have all the answers. Scripture doesn’t tell us whether stuffed animals have mansions or whether dinosaur valleys exist behind heavenly doors.

But I do believe the God who created us understands the things that bring us joy. I believe the One preparing a place for us knows every memory, every relationship, every tear, and every hope we carry.

Most of all, I believe heaven will be wonderful not because of what is there, but because of Who is there. Jesus.

As these illustrations continue to arrive, I find myself smiling at how a little boy’s stuffed animal collection helped inspire a much bigger conversation.

One that, perhaps, we have all asked at some point.

Will we see the people we love again?

And if Jesus is preparing a place for us, could it be even better than we imagine?

If you could peek behind one of the doors in the Father’s House, what would you hope to find there?

I’d love to hear what special things, favorite places, or treasured companions might be waiting on the other side.

Stay tuned to see some of the other heavenly mansions that will appear in the book as the illustrations continue to come to life.

Thank you for following along as this book slowly comes to life. It has been such a gift to share the journey with you.

If you’re new here, you can start at the beginning with How the Stuffed Animal Mansion Came to Life below.

My Big Wild Goal continues...

~ Breanna

A few weeks ago, I shared the behind-the-scenes process of building pages 7–8 of my children’s book; from my original vision notes, to rough sketches, to revision feedback back and forth with my illustrator.

At the time, the painting itself had not started yet.

Now it finally has… and seeing this spread fully painted for the first time honestly felt surreal.

This is the first (and only) exterior view of the Stuffed Animal Mansion in the book. I wanted it to feel enormous, playful, welcoming, joyful, and slightly over-the-top in the way children imagine magical places.

There are stuffed animals peeking from windows waving from balconies.
Twisting towers and pillow-like textures to feel soft and happy.
Warm golden light glowing from inside, inviting Jonner into his new home.

And now… it finally exists outside my imagination!

One of my favorite parts of this process has been watching how much collaboration goes into every page. What starts as a simple idea slowly evolves through sketches, revisions, artistic problem solving, and layers of paint until suddenly a world begins to appear.

I’m incredibly grateful for an illustrator who has partnered with me creatively through all of it. Watching Millie bring this story to life has been one of the most special parts of this journey.

And honestly, seeing the final line on these pages: “I love heaven already.”

…hit differently once the painting was complete.

We still have more pages ahead, but this felt like a milestone worth sharing.

The Stuffed Animal Mansion is finally real.

If you’d like to continue following along as this world comes to life (and be the first to know when the book becomes available for pre-order), I’d love for you to subscribe.

Subscribe now

One of the things I’m learning as I create this book is how much thought and collaboration goes into every single spread and only Mille, my illustrator, and I see this normally. Here is a peek behind the curtain.

Pages 7–8 are especially important because this is the first (and only) time readers see the exterior of the Stuffed Animal Mansion.

This is the moment Jonner first realizes Heaven may be far more wonderful, playful, and alive than he imagined.

When I sent my illustrator the original vision for this scene, my notes looked something like this:

“Grand stuffed animal castle. Warm golden light glows from the inside.
I picture Jonner looking up at the castle with the perspective behind him.
In the windows are stuffed animals, too. I am thinking some from his bedroom. I do want a bunny rabbit waving and welcoming. Maybe a penguin or panda has his nose against the glass. A giraffe with long neck is leaning out a window and smiling. The front door is enormous. Outside there are also stuffed animal topiaries (think Edward Scissorhands).”

Then came the very first sketch, which you can see labeled.

At that stage, the goal is not perfection. It’s capturing the heart of the scene and beginning to shape the perspective, layout, and emotion of the page.

But as I looked at it more, I realized something:

I wanted the mansion to feel even bigger and more magical and more excessive in the way children imagine things.

So I sent revision notes back and included a picture of a concert poster from a Phish show for inspiration of a towering perspective and overwhelming scale to help explain the feeling I was chasing.

“I feel like the castle can use many more stuffed animals, hanging around balconies or windows. I want it to be excessive.

Can we shift the perspective up higher, like the picture attached? I want it to show the castle to be expansive, huge, grand in size.”

What I appreciate so much is that my illustrator didn’t just say “okay.” She thoughtfully explained the artistic tradeoffs involved:

“The page is landscape, not portrait, so as we zoom out and make the castle larger, the details naturally become smaller. The fluffy pillow-like textures will become more block-like, and the stuffed animals will lose some individual detail as they shrink in size.”

That was such a helpful moment for me creatively because it reminded me that every artistic choice comes with compromise.

Bigger scale = Smaller details.
More grandeur = Less softness.

And honestly? That’s part of what makes this process so fascinating. I am loving this project!

The second sketch struck the balance perfectly for me, and I approved it for painting. No more notes, not even an opinion on how she does the colors because I trust her.

Now we’re at the stage where we all are waiting eagerly to see this enormous stuffed animal mansion finally come to life in full color.

I truly cannot wait.

If you’d like to continue following this journey (and be the first to know when the book is available for pre-order), I’d love for you to subscribe and ask your friends to as well.

One of the things I’m learning as I create this book is how much thought and collaboration goes into every single spread.

This started in a much quieter place like late-night conversations with one of my children. It is in the small questions that felt too big for little kids to carry.

Years ago, my mom passed away while my girls were still young and I was pregnant. I don’t think I was prepared for how hard that season would be. I was trying to process my own grief while also helping my children make sense of something I didn’t fully understand myself.

There were so many questions about heaven.

Where is it?

What is it like?

Will we see her again?

I wanted to answer them in a way that honored my faith and the truth of what I believe, but also in a way that felt gentle and safe for children. Something they could hold onto. Something that didn’t feel heavy.

And if I’m honest, I didn’t always feel equipped to do that.

More recently, those questions have come back in a new way through my young son. His curiosity is innocent and constant, and it has brought me right back to those same conversations. But this time, I felt a pull to do something with it.

To take all of these moments and put them somewhere.

That’s where this book began.

It’s a story about heaven, but it’s also a story about comfort. About imagination. About helping children process big ideas in a way that feels peaceful instead of overwhelming.

I’m sharing this here because I want to invite you into the process. The messy middle of creating something that matters. The parts that are meaningful and the parts that are hard.

If you’ve ever had a child ask a question you weren’t sure how to answer, or if your family has walked through loss, I hope this will resonate with you.

And if nothing else, I hope it gives you a small way to start those conversations.

The book is coming in October, and I’ll be sharing more along the way.

I’m really glad you’re here.