A Perfect Circle

"Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans."
— Proverbs 16:3

I used to sit alone in my room drawing circles. While other kids spent their weekends playing video games, going to parties, or kicking footballs in the park, I was refining something basic, something simple — the geometry of a perfect curve. For hours, I sketched, not chasing after flashy designs but focusing on the foundation. I believed that if I could master the circle, I could master anything I set out to create.

Those circles weren’t just exercises. They were meditative, grounding me in a world that often felt like it was moving too fast. It seemed like everyone around me was eager to grow up quickly — striving to fit into molds shaped by nightlife, sports, or trends. But I felt drawn to something different, something quieter and more intricate.

Foundations of Design

My love for design grew out of those early days. As I got older, I became captivated by product design, especially car design. I wasn’t interested in flat, graphic work. I wanted to create dynamic forms, futuristic machines — designs that felt sculpted and alive, full of movement and dimension. I was fascinated by aerodynamics, the idea of creating something that could cut through the air with grace.

But unlike most designers, I had no intention of building these machines for the real world. My work wasn’t grounded in practicality. The forms I drew existed in another space, almost like a spiritual dimension. They weren’t meant to serve a functional purpose; they were concepts, ideas suspended between worlds.

I’ll never forget watching Top Gear with my dad one evening when they aired a segment featuring a car designer sketching futuristic concepts with nothing but a ballpoint pen. That moment lit a spark in me. There was something pure about using such a simple tool to capture ideas that felt so complex and forward-thinking. From that day, the ballpoint pen became my medium of choice.

The Tension Between Scale and Intimacy

For years, I filled sketchbooks with intricate drawings of cars and abstract forms. I worked almost exclusively on A4 paper. While others splashed paint on massive canvases or embraced modern digital tools, I stuck with what felt right for me. The scale didn’t matter. What mattered was the precision and care I poured into every detail.

Despite this, I was often told that my work needed to be bigger, bolder, or more modern. Art, I was told, should make a statement through scale or medium. But for me, art was never about size or trendiness. It was about capturing something deeply personal and intimate — something that couldn’t be measured by surface area or industry expectations.

Over time, though, doubt crept in. I began to question whether my approach was enough. Maybe I did need to adapt, to move away from ink and paper, and embrace digital design. I dove into 3D modeling, creating immersive digital environments filled with architecture, characters, and landscapes.

I was building entire universes.

Yet, despite the scale and complexity of my digital work, I still felt the same pull toward pen and paper. There was a simplicity in drawing that I couldn’t escape. But I felt a nagging need to prove myself — to produce something larger than life, something that aligned with the industry’s expectations.

A Quiet Encounter with God

Then something changed. I found God.

In that quiet, personal encounter, I heard Him speak to me through my art. He didn’t urge me to strive harder or chase bigger, more ambitious projects. Instead, it felt like a parent gently placing a hand on my shoulder and saying, “It’s okay. You’re enough already.”

It was as if He was telling me that the journey I had set out on — those sketches of circles and aerodynamic forms — was already enough. I didn’t need to complicate it or seek external validation. The act of creating, with nothing but ink and paper, was already a reflection of who I was meant to be.

Through Christ, I realized that being myself was all I ever needed to do. Whether or not my art was accepted by the world didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was accepted by Him. My work, imperfect and unpolished, was a reflection of the gifts He had given me.

Lessons from Pen and Paper

There’s something unique about working with pen and paper. When you draw in ink, there’s no undo button. Every line is permanent, every mistake part of the process. It teaches you to move forward even when things don’t go perfectly. You learn to adapt, turning errors into something beautiful.

This principle extends far beyond art. The world today offers quick fixes and "undo" buttons for every mistake, but real growth happens when we’re forced to navigate imperfections. Ink demands perseverance, and in that perseverance, we discover resilience, creativity, and humility.

God showed me that this principle applies to life and faith. Faith is about embracing who you are, imperfections and all, and trusting that even your mistakes can become part of a greater masterpiece.

Coming Full Circle

I’ve come full circle. I’m no longer chasing after acceptance or trying to reshape my work to fit a mold that doesn’t align with my heart. Instead, I’ve returned to that young boy sitting alone in his room, sketching circles and dreaming about the possibilities ahead.

To anyone feeling caught between the need to conform and the desire to stay true to themselves, I want to say this: You are enough. Your journey, no matter how simple or unconventional, holds value. Don’t abandon it for the sake of acceptance.

The world may not always recognize the beauty in what you create, but God does. And sometimes, that’s the only recognition that truly matters.