Hey!

I'm Sethlina. Most people call me Sethie.

I'm a writer, designer, a maker, a mother, and someone who believes homes — and words — can hold people through the hardest parts of being human.

Love Sethie didn't start as a business plan. It started as a habit.

About ten years ago, I was blogging, life coaching, and quietly making things with my hands. Prayer jars. Candles. Blankets stitched with names and scripture. Pillow covers. Little boxes of comfort that I would give to friends or clients when they were walking through something hard.

Then people started asking.

"Could you make one for my sister?" "My best friend just lost her mom." "My coworker is going through a divorce."

So I kept making.

I've always been that kind of person. I sew, bake, draw, sing, garden, and write. Love Sethie simply became the place where all of those parts of me lived together.

For a long time, it was just creativity and community (The Tribe Gathering).

And then my life cracked open.

My son Shiloh was born during the pandemic with sickle cell disease. When he was two years old, he qualified for a stem cell transplant. His big sister was his donor.

We spent four months living inside the oncology ward.

Eventually, he came home free of sickle cell. We thought the hardest part was behind us.

But something we still can't fully explain attacked his lungs. Five months on ECMO. Machines breathing for him. Hope and terror sitting in the same hospital room.

He came off ECMO.

But then we lost him.

"Those aren't branding words.
Those are my children."

There are moments in life that split everything into a before and an after. That was one of them.

For a while, I stopped making things. Grief will do that. It quiets parts of you that once felt effortless.

About a year later, I was inspired to build a garden on top of his old playground. Ten raised beds. Two trellises. Something growing where something had been lost.

And slowly, creativity started to return. But it came back differently.

I began writing the kind of faith people don't always say out loud, the kind that admits I trust God, but I'm also angry; the kind that believes, but today I'm tired of believing.

I created sympathy cards with the words I actually needed to hear, because the truth is, the Hallmarks of the world often fail when it comes to grief.

Around the same time, a phrase began to take shape in my life.

Forever Tuesday.

Tuesday was the day we used to meet with Shiloh's care team. The day when hope and fear sat side by side in the same room.

Eventually, it became something bigger. A reminder that faith isn't just for the big moments. Sometimes it looks like trusting God on an ordinary Tuesday, when the future is unclear, and you're standing somewhere between hope and disbelief.

Forever Tuesday grew into a community of women who are learning to hold faith honestly, without pretending everything is fine.

Then life surprised us again.

This past November, my daughter was born at just three pounds. We named her Hope. On purpose.

So when I say Love Sethie is shaped by grief and carried by hope, I mean that quite literally.

Those aren't branding words.

Those are my children.

"Sometimes it looks like trusting God on an ordinary Tuesday."

Today Love Sethie is a quiet ecosystem of things that all come from the same instinct — to create beauty where people are hurting, to make words that sit beside someone instead of fixing them, to build spaces where women can talk about faith honestly instead of performing it.

Here you'll find sympathy and grief cards, my writing on Substack (The Sacred Pause), Forever Tuesday gatherings, and eventually candles, home goods, and interior design rooted in the idea of creating sanctuary.

Because I believe homes matter. Rooms matter. Words matter. Sometimes the most healing thing in the world is simply being in a place where you feel seen.

I'm still building this life.

Hope is sleeping on my chest as I write this.

I believe faith was never meant to be tidy. I've prayed on hospital floors and screamed into pillows and told God I was angry. I think He can handle all of it. If your theology can't survive an honest question, that's a theology problem, not a faith problem.

I believe God is revealed in Jesus. And I believe He is near because He stayed in the room when I wanted Him to leave.
I believe grief doesn't expire. It doesn't graduate. It just changes shape. And I'm tired of people treating doubt like it's contagious. Afraid it'll crack the stained glass of their tidy faith.
I believe a home should feed your soul before it impresses anyone. I'd rather have a table where people exhale than a room that performs for a camera.
I believe the stories we're most afraid to say out loud are usually the ones someone else needs to hear.
And I believe hope can show up unexpectedly, weighing three pounds.