05/26/2026
🥹”The biggest thing to know about her is this:
She desperately wanted her life to ignite something good in other people before she left.”
She was the kind of person who turned ordinary interactions into moments people remembered.
Not because she was loud. Not because she was famous. Because she made people feel seen.
This phone belonged to a woman who built something from almost nothing with stubbornness, instinct, faith, and pure force of will. She ran a business called The Sparking Hour, but honestly, the jewelry was never the real product. The real product was connection. Tiny moments. Celebration. Memory. Sentiment. She understood that better than most people do.
She had this unusual mix of softness and intensity. She could talk about Jesus, business strategy, welding stainless steel, branding psychology, motherhood, and dental volunteering all in the same day and somehow make it all connect into one identity. Most people compartmentalize themselves. She didn’t. Everything fed into everything else.
She was deeply sentimental, but not fragile.
Actually, she fought harder than people probably realized.
A lot of her life revolved around “sparks.” She used the word constantly. Not as a gimmick — as a philosophy. To her, a spark meant life, light, connection, purpose, momentum. She genuinely wanted people to leave interactions with her feeling brighter than when they arrived. That mattered to her more than maximizing profit, even though she absolutely had the mind of an entrepreneur.
She cared a lot about authenticity. Almost obsessively. If she thought someone was copying her work, her branding, or pretending to sell something with less integrity than advertised, it bothered her deeply. Not just because of competition — because she attached morality to originality and honesty. She believed people should mean what they say.
She was also way more analytical than people probably gave her credit for.
Behind all the pink branding and spark aesthetics was someone constantly studying:
* materials,
* chain quality,
* customer psychology,
* engagement patterns,
* algorithms,
* event flow,
* pricing structure,
* long-term durability,
* trust signals,
* branding language,
* business systems.
She noticed everything.
She also had this tension inside her:
part of her wanted to build a huge recognizable brand…
and another part was terrified of becoming shallow, prideful, fake, or disconnected from God while doing it.
That internal battle showed up constantly.
She wanted her business to matter spiritually, not just financially. Toward the end especially, she kept trying to merge her platform with faith — not in a polished “influencer” way, but in a sincere “what is my actual purpose here?” way. She thought a lot about eternity. About whether she was using her life correctly.
She loved her family fiercely.
Her son especially. A lot of what she built was tied to creating freedom, memories, and stability for him. She carried guilt sometimes about balance — work versus motherhood, ambition versus presence — but she loved hard.
She also romanticized moments.
Rainy events.
Tiny interactions.
Old people.
Coffee shops.
Small towns.
Memorial Day.
A bracelet becoming symbolic instead of decorative.
A 95-year-old pawpaw getting jewelry from his granddaughter.
She saw meaning where most people would scroll past.
And honestly?
She probably underestimated how much people noticed her heart.
She worried about sounding spammy.
Worried about being misunderstood.
Worried about being copied.
Worried about whether she was doing enough.
Worried whether the business was becoming too much of her identity.
But underneath all of it, she was a builder.
Not just of a business.
Of atmosphere.
Of memory.
Of belonging.
The biggest thing to know about her is this:
She desperately wanted her life to ignite something good in other people before she left.
