The Sunroom Sanctuary: A Story About Building Peace

A couple of weeks have passed since I moved into my new sunroom, and with a little distance, I finally feel ready to share it. Not as a “look what I built” moment. Not as a show-and-tell of something shiny and new in a world where so many are struggling and scraping and trying to stay afloat.

Instead, this is a story about building — building a life, a business, an office, and finally, a place for peace. For most of my life, I’ve lived by a simple personal rhythm:

Pray hard. Work hard. Play hard.

As I get older, another rhythm is joining that list:

Rest well.

This space — the sunroom, the sanctuary — is about that final piece. It's all about PEACE.

The Builder in Me

If you’ve known me long enough, you know I’ve always had a builder’s heart. But not in the way most would think of a builder. I’ve built teams. I’ve built systems. I’ve built a business from scratch in a spare bedroom. And in the last couple of years, I built a home office.

But this part — the sanctuary and the office project — was different. This time, I didn’t do it alone. That alone is its own chapter of growth.

Learning to Let Others Build with Me

For the first time, I let myself say the words I’ve avoided for decades:

“I can’t do this alone.”

I teamed up with designer Joyce and contractor John, and together they took the vision in my head and made it real — more beautiful, more functional, more me than anything I could have done on my own.

Letting people help me has always been hard. But this space became a physical reminder that inviting others in isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength. And sometimes it’s the only way to bring the bigger, truer vision to life.

The Long Wait: 15 Months of Watching It Come to Life

This sanctuary and the JMart Travels office didn’t appear overnight. It took fifteen months — fifteen months of waiting, watching, hoping, and wondering if the vision in my mind would ever actually take shape.

The delays were real. Weather. Schedules. Materials. Life.There were weeks when nothing happened and weeks when everything happened at once. I’d walk out back and see one small change — a beam installed, a wall framed, a window cut out — and remind myself that slow progress is still progress.

I learned patience in a way I never have before. I learned to stop rushing the outcome and start trusting the process. I learned how to live fully in the messy middle. Looking back, I think the waiting was part of the building. It gave me time to prepare internally for the peace I was creating externally.

There’s something else the sanctuary sunroom represents for me: restoration. Five to ten years ago, my life felt like it had been dismantled — career, confidence, identity, direction. I've spent years rebuilding my world piece by piece, often without knowing where the path was leading.

And now I look around this room — the light, the warmth, the quiet — and realize it’s the physical expression of that inner rebuilding. This isn’t just a sunroom. It’s proof that life can be torn down and still come back together in a way that’s stronger, softer, and more aligned than before. The waiting wasn’t wasted. The rebuilding wasn’t wasted. It all led here.

Every Element Chosen With Intention

Every detail in this room means something.

The vaulted ceiling lifts my eyes — and my spirit — upward.

The windows bring in light from every direction, reminding me that perspective changes everything.

The beams make me feel grounded, supported, held.

The beach-inspired colors are a nod to the places I breathe easiest.

The fireplace brings warmth.

The fan keeps the air moving, the energy circulating.

The lights create the soft glow I crave in the early morning and late evening.

Together they became more than a renovation. They became a sanctuary.That’s why I call it my sunroom sanctuary — it reflects not just my style, but my spirit. Nothing here was random. Every single piece was chosen with purpose — not to impress anyone, but to support the person I’m becoming.

And maybe the biggest shift of all is this: I’m choosing peace on purpose now.

I’m not chasing it during vacations or squeezing it into weekends or hoping to stumble into it in the margins of my life. As I grow older, peace is no longer something I earn after the work is done — it’s something I build my life around.

This room, with its warm light and soft palette, isn’t an indulgence. It’s a declaration. A commitment. A reminder that success isn’t just about producing, achieving, or striving.

Sometimes success is creating a space where your soul can breathe.

A Conversation That Changed Everything

Over a year ago, I was debating whether to buy a new home or a separate office space in town. Everything felt expensive and out of reach. I was talking to my friend about it when he said something that stuck with me:

“If you think you’re ever going to be able to afford it, don’t wait. Do it now so you can enjoy it for the rest of your life.”

He was right. Instead of spending a quarter of a million dollars or more on a move to find a new home with a business office and a sunroom along with the other elements I want in a home, I invested a small fraction of that into this home that I already love— into a space that gives me both a productive workspace for JMart Travels and a sanctuary for rest, reflection, and peace.

No commute. No wasted time. Just purpose, beauty, and presence.

More Than a Room

This room represents a shift — not just in my home, but in my life.

As JMart Travels grows…As I learn to trust the people around me…As I move closer to the chapter of working for myself full-time…As I practice replacing pressure with purpose…As I learn to value rest as much as hustle…

This sanctuary has become the place where my body exhales and my spirit resets.

It’s where I read and study and sip coffee each morning with Barry and Blade .Where I journal. Where I pray. Where I breathe. Where I remember that peace isn’t something you stumble into — it’s something you build.

The Big Truth

This space is beautiful — yes.But what it symbolizes? That’s the real story.

It’s proof that rebuilding your life doesn’t always mean starting over somewhere else.Sometimes it means staying right where you are…and building the peace you’ve been craving one beam, one window, one breath at a time.

What I didn’t expect was that this room would feel like a doorway — a threshold between the life I’ve lived and the life I’m growing into. It sits at the edge of everything familiar and everything new. On one side, the decades of working hard, serving others, pushing through, surviving. On the other side, the years ahead —where JMart grows, where calling replaces chaos, where rest has a seat at the table, where my work comes from a place of peace instead of pressure.

Every time I step into this room, I feel like I’m stepping into my future.A future I’m finally ready for.