“What you make as a designer is an expression of yourself. I love music and painting and I prefer life in the country.”

— Laura Ashley

“I don’t like ephemeral things; I like things that last forever.”

— Laura Ashley

Life has taught me that there are no shortcuts worth taking. The best things I’ve ever built came the same way crops do—one season at a time, with hard work, patience, and faith that God will send the rain when it’s needed.

I’ve never been one for wishful thinking. Dreams are important, but dreams without work are just clouds drifting across the sky. Even winning the lottery requires someone to get up, buy a ticket, and believe enough to try.

So when I dreamed of becoming a designer, an artist working with clothing, textiles, and home furnishings, it wasn’t some passing fancy. It wasn’t a castle built in the air. It was a seed planted deep in the ground, and I intended to tend it until it grew.

The seed had been planted years before. I loved fashion, art, and design back when quality still mattered and many heritage brands were creating pieces meant to be handed down rather than thrown away. I was drawn to things with history in them—things that carried the fingerprints of the people who made them.

I loved old houses, old gardens, old books, and old stories. I loved seeing art and history walk hand in hand. Most of all, I loved things that stood the test of time.

So I decided to study design.

In those days, getting into design school wasn’t easy. Most students spent a year preparing their portfolios. I didn’t have a year. I had a few short weeks before the semester began and a stubborn determination that wouldn’t let me wait another season.

People told me it wasn’t enough time.

Maybe they were right.

But there are moments in life when you either step forward or stay standing at the gate wondering what might have been. I wasn’t interested in wondering.

When every fashion school turned me away, I could have taken it as a sign to give up. Most places told me it was too late. Their positions were already filled, international students had secured their places months before, and waiting lists stretched longer than country roads.

But sometimes God closes one gate only to lead you toward another.

So I turned my attention to Interior Design, or Interior Architecture as it was often called. It wasn’t the path I had first imagined for myself, but it was still design, still creativity, still a world I loved.

With only days to prepare, I redesigned a room in a classical English country cottage style. I gathered photographs, created mood boards, documented my process, and poured everything I had into that portfolio. Looking back now, I can see that it wasn’t experience carrying me through—it was determination.

When the invitation for an interview arrived, I felt a door opening.

When the offer came, I walked straight through it.

What followed was some of the hardest work I have ever done.

While many people were out enjoying their evenings, I was sketching, designing, redrawing, building models, and refining ideas. There were nights when the lights seemed to burn longer than the stars outside. There were moments when my confidence was stretched thin by criticism from lecturers and tutors who saw things differently than I did.

But that experience taught me something valuable.

Taste is personal.

Design is personal.

What one person calls beautiful, another may dismiss entirely. Trends come and go like changing weather. One season they are celebrated, the next they are forgotten.

But timelessness is different.

Timelessness endures.

The old English cottages, the heritage homes, the craftsmanship of earlier generations, the furniture built to last, the fabrics chosen with care—those things remain long after fashions have blown through like a summer storm.

That became my focus.

I wasn’t interested in chasing every new trend that appeared on the horizon. I wanted to understand why certain designs had survived for generations. Why some things never seemed to lose their beauty.

Alongside my design studies, I spent a year studying marketing and advertising. I wanted to understand not only how to create something beautiful, but how to communicate its value. I knew that talent alone wasn’t enough. If I was ever going to build something meaningful, I needed to understand business as well as creativity.

Before long, I became the first person in my class to find work in the industry.

At first, I worked for an interior design company, helping create retail spaces. It was valuable experience, but over time I realised my heart wasn’t in designing generic commercial interiors. My passion lay elsewhere.

Eventually I found my place working in an interiors store, helping families furnish their homes.

I loved it.

Young couples buying their first sofa. Families choosing furniture that would become part of their lives for years to come. People searching for pieces that would turn a house into a home.

There was something meaningful about it.

The more I learned, the more fascinated I became with the journey behind the products themselves. Being sent away to train as a leather specialist opened my eyes even further. Every skill I learned seemed to plant another seed.

Soon I was promoted to manage a large store and lead a team of hardworking people. Good people. The kind of people who showed up every day, rolled up their sleeves, and did what needed doing.

Yet deep down I still felt restless.

Not dissatisfied.

Just hungry to learn more.

I wanted to understand what happened behind the curtain. I wanted to know how products were designed, manufactured, marketed, and brought into homes across the country.

Then one day I saw an opportunity that seemed almost too perfect.

A position had opened within the production team at Laura Ashley.

For me, it wasn’t simply a job.

It was a dream.

Laura Ashley represented everything I loved. Country living. Heritage. Quality. Timeless beauty. The kind of design that didn’t need to shout to be noticed.

I was a country girl at heart, and always had been.

Those roots ran deep.

My grandfather on my mother’s side worked as an agricultural manager. My grandmother worked the land, and as a little girl I would often accompany her. I remember watching the skies, learning the language of weather, warning her when rain clouds were rolling in across the fields.

Some lessons stay with you forever.

My years at a country based Catholic English boarding school beside farmland only deepened that connection. The countryside became part of who I was.

I loved country music.

Country fashion.

Country cooking.

Old gardens.

Old homes.

The sort of homewares that reminded you of your grandmother’s house, where everything had a story and every piece seemed to carry a memory.

So when I was offered the position at Laura Ashley, it felt as though every road I had travelled had led me there.

By then, I had already stepped away from pursuing music professionally.

I loved music deeply. I always will.

But as a young woman, I looked at the life many performers lived—constantly travelling, always moving, rarely putting down roots—and I knew it wasn’t the life I wanted at that time.

I wanted a home.

I wanted community.

I wanted deep friendships and family connections.

I wanted roots that could grow.

So while I never abandoned my love of music, I chose to explore the other gifts God had given me and see where they might lead.

Laura Ashley became one of the greatest learning experiences of my life.

The work was relentless.

One moment I was on the factory floor. The next I was in stores reviewing products. Then I was sitting in design meetings. Then corresponding with manufacturers overseas in India. Then reviewing samples, checking quality, planning marketing campaigns, managing costs, solving problems, and making decisions that carried real consequences.

There were no shortcuts.

Mistakes cost money.

Sometimes a great deal of money.

Every detail mattered.

Every measurement mattered.

Every shipment mattered.

Every decision mattered.

That environment taught me discipline.

It taught me responsibility.

It taught me excellence.

I learned that hard work isn’t something to fear. It is something to embrace.

I pushed myself harder than I thought possible.

Not because someone demanded it.

Because I wanted to become better.

And over time, I did.

I became someone people relied upon. Not only for design and production, but even for technical support when problems arose. I became the person others sought out when they needed answers.

All of it reinforced something I still believe today.

Human potential is far greater than most people realise.

When we stop making excuses.

When we commit ourselves fully.

When we work with discipline, integrity, and gratitude.

There is almost no limit to what we can learn or create.

Every day I was inspired by the story of Laura Ashley herself—a young woman who started with an idea, worked tirelessly, and built something that endured long after trends had faded.

That story spoke to me then.

And it still speaks to me now.

When the time eventually came for me to leave Laura Ashley and move on to work for a multi-billion-dollar fashion company, it was far more emotional than I expected.

I still remember it.

The conversations.

The cards.

The gifts.

The hugs.

The sadness from colleagues who wished I would stay.

It is one of life’s greatest blessings when people are sorry to see you go, because it means you left something good behind. It means the years meant something.

Looking back now, as a woman in her forties, I can see how every season of my life was preparing me for the next.

Nothing was wasted.

Not the years spent drawing until my hand ached.

Not the long nights studying.

Not the difficult projects.

Not the criticism.

Not the mistakes.

Not the successes.

Each experience was another stone laid in the foundation God was building beneath my feet.

And perhaps that is why I find myself saddened sometimes when I look at the world today.

Not because I believe every generation before us was perfect. They weren’t.

But because so many people seem unwilling to do the hard work required to build something of their own.

There was a time when people spent years developing their gifts. Years becoming skilled. Years learning a craft. Years earning their reputation one day at a time.

Now so many people seem to want the harvest without ever planting the field.

They want recognition without mastery.

Attention without effort.

Fame without sacrifice.

The old wisdom that once guided people—the understanding that worthwhile things take time—often feels forgotten.

I think about the world Robert and I grew up in.

A world where talent couldn’t be manufactured by technology.

A world where musicians still stood before microphones and sang without endless digital enhancements.

A world where artists, actors, designers, writers, and performers spent years learning their craft before expecting applause.

A world where people respected mastery because they understood what it cost to achieve it.

Perhaps that world wasn’t perfect either.

But it valued excellence.

Today I watch countless people chasing visibility rather than substance.

Everyone wants to be famous.

Everyone wants to go viral.

Everyone wants an audience.

Yet far fewer seem interested in becoming exceptional at something.

Many build entire platforms around gossip, outrage, slander, and controversy. Some use artificial images instead of creating their own. Others attach themselves to the names and achievements of people who spent decades building their success.

And I often find myself wondering how we drifted so far from the values that once built strong people and strong communities.

One of the things that troubles me most is seeing genuinely gifted people treated as though their accomplishments mean nothing, while those who contributed little are elevated simply because they are loud enough to command attention.

From my perspective, and more importantly from God’s perspective, there is something deeply upside down about that.

How can we fail to honour diligence?

How can we fail to respect discipline?

How can we dismiss decades of work while rewarding idleness?

Scripture speaks clearly about these things.

The Parable of the Talents was never simply about money.

It was about stewardship.

God gives gifts.

He gives abilities.

He gives opportunities.

And He expects us to develop them.

Not bury them.

Not neglect them.

Not spend our lives envying what someone else has built.

The servant who multiplied what he was given was praised. The servant who buried his talent in the ground was rebuked.

That lesson has stayed with me my entire life.

Every gift God has given me, I have tried to develop.

Some were stronger than others.

Some took years to discover.

Some lay dormant for a season before blooming later.

But I have never wanted to arrive before God one day having wasted what He entrusted to me.

All those years ago, when I was designing products, leading campaigns, reviewing samples, and working alongside manufacturers, I wasn’t simply building a career.

I was developing gifts.

Those gifts are still with me today.

In fact, they have only grown stronger.

My knowledge has grown.

My wisdom has deepened, and my experience has multipled.

Just as a tree grows stronger ring by ring, year after year, so do the gifts that are nurtured and exercised faithfully.

Many people wonder where confidence comes from.

For me, confidence never came from praise.

It came from practice.

It came from years of showing up.

Years of learning.

Years of failing and trying again.

Years of trusting God with the outcome while doing my very best with the work in front of me.

That foundation has never left me.

And perhaps it never will.

Because when I look at my life honestly, I can see God’s hand in every chapter.

The country girl who loved old cottages.

The student desperately trying to build a portfolio in only a few weeks.

The young woman working long hours in design.

The manager leading teams.

The production specialist working with manufacturers across the world.

The musician who never entirely left music behind.

All of them are still part of me.

The threads were different, but God was weaving the same tapestry all along.

Today those threads have come together in a way I never could have predicted.

I am still that country woman at heart.

I still love the land.

I still love old stories.

I still love timeless design.

I still love country music.

I still believe there is something sacred about planting seeds and patiently waiting for them to grow.

Whether those seeds are planted in soil, in business, in relationships, or in dreams, the principle remains the same.

What we sow, we reap.

Not always immediately.

Not always in the season we expect.

But eventually.

That promise is woven throughout creation itself.

The farmer understands it.

The gardener understands it.

And every person who has built something worthwhile understands it too.

You do not reap in the same season you sow.

You sow in faith.

You work in faith.

You wait in faith.

And one day the harvest arrives.

Working for Laura Ashley taught me many things beyond design.

It taught me taste.

It taught me standards.

It taught me old-fashioned manners.

It taught me to appreciate craftsmanship.

It taught me to honour those who came before me and built something worthy of being preserved.

Not to steal from them.

Not to diminish them.

Not to pretend I created what they created.

But to contribute my part and help carry their work forward.

There is dignity in that.

There is honour in that.

And there is wisdom in understanding that every generation stands upon foundations built by another.

That is true of businesses.

It is true of families.

It is true of nations.

And it is true of faith.

The older I become, the more grateful I am for those who came before me.

For the farmers.

For the teachers.

For the designers.

For the musicians.

For the craftsmen.

For the dreamers.

For the builders.

For every person who quietly gave their life to creating something that would outlast them.

People like Laura Ashley.

People like Robert.

And countless others whose names may never be widely known but whose work continues to bless the world.

I would never want to become the sort of person who forgets that.

Because if I lose my appreciation for what came before me, I lose something much greater than nostalgia.

I lose perspective.

I lose gratitude.

I lose sight of the extraordinary beauty God has woven through generations of human effort, creativity, sacrifice, and faith.

And perhaps that is what I value most today.

Not fame.

Not trends.

Not attention.

But roots.

Deep roots.

Roots sunk firmly into faith, family, hard work, country values, and gratitude for those who came before.

Those roots have carried me through every season of life so far.

And God willing, they will carry me through many more to come.

As a commercially active recording artist whose music is still being consumed and sold: Robert’s career spans roughly from the late 1980s to today—about 38 to 40 years and counting.

Robert’s music has remained commercially active for nearly four decades! His songs are still streamed, purchased, licensed, and listened to around the world today.

Which shows that you can’t destroy or “mute” what God himself has created and decided to bless.

They just wasted everybody’s time, tears and energy on a bunch of crooks!

Not to mentioned hated an innocent man for no reason. One of the world’s most brilliant, talented artists there has ever been (if I don’t say so myself! ).

J.