July 20, 2026

We Don't Build Bigger Fences- We Build A Bigger Table.

One of my favorite things about seeing Holy Smocks change since its founding in October of 2025 is that we started from literally nothing- I was just a girl with some colored pencils, paper, and a dream. But now, looking back, I don't think I was ever trying to build an art club. I think I was trying to build a bigger table. A place where anyone could pull up a chair, make something with their hands, and leave feeling a little less alone in Princeton, Texas. 

There were some Thursdays in the beginning where no one showed up-- just me. Occasionally, random people would come into the cafe and ask "What are you doing here?". After I explained, I got some sympathy looks. I was all alone at what felt like the biggest 6-ft table ever, with a little folded paper sign that said "Holy Smocks - join us for art club!". And people would leave anyways. 

But, I didn't let that stop me. I knew if I was showing up at the table, someone else was bound to show up, too. 

I'd seen the countless grievances aired on the local Facebook pages. "There is nothing to do around here." "Traffic is so bad, I can't go down 380." "Everything is always so far, in McKinney and Dallas, it's not fair!" And I agreed! I heard and felt all of those things, too!

In my work as a real estate agent, I also encountered so many clients in this area who wanted to move out of this city after just a year of buying their homes here. You may be thinking, "Wouldn't it be in your best interest to encourage people to move? Why are you trying to convince them to stay?" Allow me to explain! 

I've had plenty of beefs with living here. I feel all the same pains as anyone else does. Its not very scenic here at the moment. As I write this in July of 2026, the entirety of 380 is filled with orange barrels, temporary traffic lights, and lots of road rage. But one afternoon, I was reminded of why I stay. I'd called non-emergency services to fix the road right outside my house, which had buckled so severely it unfortunately damaged multiple people's cars. When I did that, I also stood in the street to direct traffic away from the dangerous mini-mountain. I could've just left- my house was literally right around the corner. But I wasn't the first one to stop traffic for this incident-- there was a young girl who's car was damaged and she was late to her shift at Walmart; and she was STILL out there making sure the public didn't have as bad of a day as she did. 

She is a perfect example of why we do what we do at Holy Smocks. Princeton itself? Tough sell. But Princeton, the people? We've got something that other places don't. We've got HEART. And that's worth more than any house I could ever sell. 

So yes. I kept showing up to that sad little table in the cafe. And I kept putting up that little paper sign. And I kept shouting "Holy Smocks - free community art nights!" from the rooftops (okay, maybe not rooftops but all over local Facebook groups!) And eventually, people came to join me. We added some small end tables, and those seats got taken up. And then, the cafe owner let me start using his 8 ft tables. Two of them, in addition to the end tables, and some nights, all of the other tables in the cafe. Holy Smocks has never been built by one person. It's been built by dozens of small acts of generosity—people donating supplies, volunteers showing up, strangers becoming friends, and a café owner who looked at a tiny art club and thought, "Sure, you can have the bigger table."

Every Thursday, anywhere from 10-25 people are showing up to get more connected to their city. To build local pride instead of resentment. To make friends instead of staying strangers. And to hold things they love in their hands, instead of gripping a steering wheel wishing they were somewhere else. 

This group is made possible only through heart-- God's grace, mercy, and provision give us the ability to share His love, every single week, in the places we overlooked. 

Every week, we have the opportunity to make our table a little longer. 

We make room for one more conversation.

One more laugh.

One more prayer.

One more person who needed somewhere to belong.

Maybe that's all community really is—not building bigger buildings or taller fences, but making sure there's always another seat at the table.

"When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence."