Over the last few years, I’ve been fortunate enough to live close to the water. We see it daily. The beach, my sacred place. To look out at the horizon, watch the setting and rising sun, see the waves as they roll in, it’s mesmerising.
When I was a little girl, my dad told me that waves always come in sets of seven. He said you could count them and after the first big wave crashed, six more would follow, each losing a little power until there was a pause, stillness… Continue reading
I feel God when I am alone.
The solitude awakens my soul. Hidden thoughts and feelings floating to the surface, effortlessly pouring out before Him. I become aware of His presence and remember who I am. Continue reading
‘Your best life now.’ This is the phrase that has been finding its ways into my consciousness of late.
My best life now, right now.
Am I living my best life now? If not why. What am I waiting for? Why am I holding back, holding out? What have I stopped believing God for?…
I have felt challenged when it comes to my faith. Specifically the substance of my faith. Is faith evident in my life? If so, where is it? What actions is it taking?
Have I diminished God down to what is possible, reasonable and doable in my own strength? Or am I believing for the God opportunities and the whispers that lead to wild adventures and memorable testimonies? Continue reading
I had just turned thirteen when I had my first kiss. Rory, the cute, mysterious, dark-haired boy from down the street, had been my boyfriend for a few days when our friends decided it was time we kissed.
The first time I walked through the door of the abortion clinic was for an appointment to confirm I was pregnant. In my mind, there was no need for confirmation. Since I’d taken the test, the subtle changes in my body were haunting reminders of the secret I was hiding. A sudden thirst for soft drink, cravings for ice cream and a distaste for coffee, which had generally sustained me each day during university and long hours at work.
I am a writer. I have to write. When I don’t, things get messy, disoriented, clogged up and kinda foggy. Over the past few years as writing transitioned from a new acquaintance to my safe, comfortable friend, the unforeseen challenge arises to understanding its purpose. Why do I write.
Lately, I’ve been feeling the pang of regret. The regret stems from the fact that potentially my book had caused married hearts to wish they had something else. Despising their own marriage.
Ouch. Continue reading
Paint your world with gratitude…
My first official role in ‘ministry’ was helping to look after a small team of people who made up our church worship team. It was a role I took very seriously. Very seriously. Continue reading
Writing Daughter Wait! wasn’t something I intended to do. It just happened. A few years ago when I felt the prompt to start writing I began writing. Mostly I wrote messages. Writing messages became blogging and blogging turned into a love affair with words that resulted in me dreaming of one day writing a book. Continue reading
When I was in the final stages of editing my book I came across this passage:
‘Black baggy clothes were my staple attire—my best efforts to hide the body I was ashamed of. In my mind, the few extra kilos I carried were enough to make me want to hide. But imagining the future forced me to realise I didn’t want to be a wife with body image issues, a lack of confidence, constantly belittling myself. God valued me, and I needed to start valuing myself.