For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.
Hope is like a leopard. Even when it is there, you often have to make a concerted effort to find it. That has been my experience, anyway. Hope is an elusive creature, shy and unobtrusive. But she is exquisitely beautiful. And once you see her, once her image is imprinted on your mind, she is... Continue Reading →
When we talk about God we reach instinctively for royal imagery because it feels weighty and majestic. Kingship promises order in a world fraying at the edges. And goodness knows we need that hope. Yet the startling claim at the heart of Christmas is not that God arrives as a king, but that God arrives... Continue Reading →
Tomorrow I turn fifty. It’s not a milestone I’ve dreaded, though I’ve certainly felt its weight approaching. But it’s not the weight of regret. It’s the weight of awareness—of having carried things, for a long time, that were never mine to hold. Of having mistaken anxiety for purpose. Of thinking I had to make something... Continue Reading →
Easter unsettles people. Being at the heart of the Christian story, it tends to polarise us: you either roll your eyes at its claims or feel deeply moved by them. There’s not much in between. Unless you count the chocolate, in which case there’s a whole aisle of middle ground in your local supermarket. But... Continue Reading →
I have felt sad and alone for as long as I can remember. So when you say that you feel sad and nobody understands, you are wrong. Me and depression have a long history together. If you had been a reader, which I accept you are not, you would have possibly read this blog already.... Continue Reading →
You don’t get to choose where you are born, nor the body you are born into. You get what you get and you don’t complain. Well, you can complain but there is no point. There are no returns and no refunds. Another year is gone, and, as we celebrate another year together as pilgrims on... Continue Reading →
Writing is an act of hope. There is a presumption that what you have to say not only matters, but can shift things, make things better. To write is to believe that things can be other than what they are. Maybe that is why I have battled to write these last few months. I am... Continue Reading →
I remember so vividly the day you were born. I remember how you woke mom in the early hours of the morning (you always have been an early riser) and then took your time actually arriving. Even nine years on, I remember the long (17) hours’ wait, where the whole world seemed to be condensed... Continue Reading →
As I write this, a week before your birthday, I am sitting four hundred kilometres away from you. It is nine o’ clock in the morning and it is already 30 degrees outside. The air is heavy with the heat. The cicadas hum steadily in the background and somewhere in the nearby acacias I can... Continue Reading →
I have been to enough of your concerts now that I am no longer surprised that you do your own thing and refuse to just follow the crowd. While all of the other children at your graduation sat, still and compliant, you participated fully in each moment: you mouthed the words to other classes’ songs,... Continue Reading →
Vapors In The Wind 