A Quiet Thread of Bravery & Bloom A Conversation Between Triana & Her Mom, Cher

Triana (narration):

My mom, Cher, isn’t just a mother or a quiet force in my life—she’s a master of her craft.

A professionally trained piano tuner and technician, a skilled luthier, an expert seamstress, and an entrepreneur for over a lifetime.

Her hands have built, fixed, and restored so much—always with precision, care, and quiet integrity.

We’ve never really been the kind of people who needed to say everything out loud.

We lived together through the quiet parts—through change, through healing, through the soft ache of missing people who aren’t sitting at the table anymore.

After Dad passed, it wasn’t a loud grief. It was quieter. Slower.

We did what we knew how to do: we kept going.

We cooked dinner. We folded laundry. We fixed what was broken. We left the light on.

And somewhere in that quiet… something brave was happening.

I didn’t always have the words back then, but now I can see how my mom was sowing something in that season—a kind of steady, sacred strength.

She didn’t demand attention—she just kept tending. Kept building. Kept honoring what mattered.

Much of what Bloom & Still is comes from her.

From the way she gardens. The way she counts the smallest blessings, even if it’s redundant, just to make a moment feel special.

From the way she prays over crocheting puppets for someone special. From the way she practices her guitar. From the way she keeps stepping into the shop where Dad used to work—fixing what needs fixing, in a space I still find hard to enter.

From the way she prays while she works—whether she’s shaping fabric, restoring ivory, smoothing wood, or tuning strings.

From the way she insists on quality, even when no one’s watching.

From the way she chooses to live with joy—even when joy doesn’t come easy.

This conversation is just us—me and my mom, sitting across from each other like we’ve done a hundred times.

It’s not a grand interview.

It’s a quiet thank-you.

For all the ways her presence, her hands, her life have left threads in mine.

Triana:

What season do you feel like you’re blooming in right now?

Cher (after a soft breath):

Honestly… I think I’m blooming in a season I didn’t expect.

I’m learning to be single again. But not lonely—just… different.

I’m learning to enjoy what God has placed in front of me today, instead of always carrying yesterday or worrying about tomorrow.

There’s joy here. Quiet, unexpected joy.

Triana:

Mmm. That’s really beautiful, Mom.

I see that in you—how settled you are these days.

It’s like you’re blooming inward. Not trying to prove anything. Just… being.

Cher (smiling):

That took a while. But yes. I think I’ve finally let myself rest.

Triana:

What’s a detail in your work that feels sacred?

Cher:

When I step into someone’s home—whether I’m tuning a piano, crafting a custom string cover, or working on a repair—I don’t just see it as a task.

I want to leave that space better than I found it—not just the instrument or the object, but the atmosphere too.

I always end up praying while I’m working. Quiet, simple prayers.

“God, bless this home. Let peace rest here.”

I don’t say it out loud, but I believe it matters.

And the work itself—I don’t rush it. Whether I’m shaping fabric, smoothing wood, restoring ivory, or bringing sound back to a piano, I try to bring my best. That feels like worship, in a way.

Triana:

Mmm. I love that.

There’s something so powerful about quiet integrity. That’s what I think of when I think of you.

Cher (gently):

Thank you, honey. That means a lot.

Triana:

What does stillness look like for you now?

Cher:

Stillness is simple things.

It’s my morning cup of coffee. It’s listening to the rain. It’s swimming in the pool in the afternoon, letting my body be light.

It’s when I stop striving and remember I’m already held.

Triana:

Yeah… I’ve noticed those rhythms in you.

Like how you float in the pool, or how you slow down and tend the pool area every morning, or care for the landscaping and the plants you love.

And without even meaning to, I’ve started doing those same things—watering plants, tending to things better, finding the pool to be a sanctuary you nurture for me and others, needing to leave the phone in the other room, not letting chores pile up and control me.

It’s funny how that stillness made its way into me too.

It’s a big part of why Bloom & Still even exists.

Because of how you’ve chosen to live—with presence, with intention, with beauty.

Even in the hard. Especially in the hard.

Cher (quietly):

We don’t always know what’s planting seeds in someone else, do we?

I’m glad it took root in you.

Triana:

What’s a creative risk that changed you?

Cher:

Designing my own string covers.

I’d never done something like that before—not like that.

But I knew there was a need, and I thought, “What if I can meet it?”

So I took the risk. Made something original.

It wasn’t just about the product—it was about trusting my instincts.

It was about saying, “I can do this. I have something to offer.”

Triana:

That was such a bold, quiet move.

I remember watching you take that leap… and it stirred something in me too.

Triana:

How do you hope your work impacts others?

Cher:

I hope it brings peace.

I hope they feel cared for—even if I’m only there for an hour.

That they feel seen. That their instrument, or whatever I’ve crafted for them, feels like it matters.

I want the quality of the work to speak for itself—but more than that, I want it to be a blessing. Even if they don’t know why.

Triana:

Yeah… it’s like your work carries presence.

It’s not just repair—it’s restoration.

We’ve talked about how working with our hands reminds us of how we grow as humans—the process isn’t always smooth, and we have to work out the rough parts to make it better.

I think that’s why being an artisan or nurturing a garden speaks to my soul.

Because it’s what God does with us if we let Him—and it’s how community can feel too.

Cher:

That’s the heart of it, for sure.

There’s always a connection, always something to challenge your growth if you let it.

It can be good or hard, but when we have God in it, it’s that refining fire we often talk about—with the work we do, and how God works in us. You’re so right about that.

Triana:

What do you want to be known for?

Cher:

That I was steady.

That I brought beauty with my hands.

That I didn’t just work—I cared. Deeply.

That I kept showing up.

That I loved well, even when I didn’t have the words.

Triana:

You do. I think you show up in more ways than you know.

You’re all of that, Mom. You always have been.

I know that’s God moving in you, shaping you into the woman you are today—and I thank you for that.

Triana:

And if you could leave a message in a bottle for other creatives, what would it say?

Cher:

I’d tell them to seek to serve God first.

Not the crowd. Not the algorithm. Not the expectation.

Make what you’re called to make—and trust that He’ll lead you.

That’s what I’ve done, in the quiet places.

It’s where I’ve met Him most deeply.

Triana:

Mmm.

That’s everything.

That’s the whole reason this space exists.

Triana (narration):

I tried once to pick up the tuning hammer.

To step back into the shop. To carry something I wasn’t ready to hold.

I loved the work—but the room felt too loud with memory. I couldn’t think straight.

It was too close to home.

But you, Mom—you picked it up.

Not to fill a gap. Not to prove anything.

But because there was still something good in it.

Because it honored the work. Because it honored Dad.

God wasn’t done with Brower Piano, or with the parts of us He was shaping in those moments.

You never asked me to do the same.

You challenged me to step up and keep going, even when it was hard—because life lives on, and Dad wouldn’t have wanted either of us to stay in the mud or the mess, but to live our lives well with what we love.

You just left the door open and let me find my own way through.

And I’ve realized… that’s its own kind of bravery.

Not loud. Not demanding. But steady. Faithful. Beautiful.

You didn’t force a legacy—you lived one.

And I’ve been shaped by it every step of the way.

Thank you for being here.

For doing life with me.

For weaving a thread of stillness and courage that’s carried us both—even when we didn’t have words for it yet.

Cher:

Thank you, sweetie. I’m honored to be here, and I’m so grateful for you and what God is doing.

Thanks for inviting me into your space.