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anxiety

For Easter Friday: A truth that cannot be contained in an egg, or a tomb….

‘It is finished.’ (John 19:30) Breathe in these words. Draw them down into your lungs and out again. Breathe in deep. Because this is a deep reality. Not skin-deep, but marrow and bone deep. Soul – deep. As deep as deep can go. This is an exhilarating reality, more freeing and powerful than the wind. A gale-forced liberation. Our sins blown away. Our wounds healed. By his wounds. As our little E likes to say when something is over or missing, it has been ‘disappeared.’ Our sins have been disappeared.

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campus living

Their world: an afternoon in our garden in Mid-March

In the late afternoon at our place a breeze comes through the garden, touching every living thing, including us, with tenderness. Dinner time is almost here. The intense sun has run its course for the day. No need for anymore sunscreen, and hats can finally be abandoned – if desired. We inhabit the garden freely.

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Our Story

Our Story: Pt 1

When I look back over what I have written so far, I see that I have been doing a lot of keyboard-chattering about my children and their exploits, and how they are driving us to delirium. And they have been. And they are (I won’t even go into the details here of how yesterday morning Willem plugged the sink with toilet paper and created a Niagra falls effect in our small bathroom).

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anxiety

Something we are good at… and shouldn’t be

Each time I’ve been about to give birth something happens. My must-do-it-all-right-or-else streak rises like a hungry tiger. My mind whirs with pictures revolving around situations and scenarios where I will potentially fail–feeding, child wrangling, coping,  relating to my husband, relating to anyone, washing my hair, sleeping…

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campus living

Shifting Seasons

Tonight feels like a writing-in night. All the windows and doors in our house are flung wide open to receive the southerly breeze, like weary arms eagerly awaiting an embrace from a long-lost friend. I am sitting at my desk by the large front windows, and for once my commercial-strength floor fan sits silent in front of me, while my keyboard alone taps a semi-rhythmic beat.

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anxiety

MY WEAK = HIS STRONG

‘I’m looking for a still alpine lake
somewhere far off — a lake still enough to sit and stare without fear
and deep enough to understand that
it’s all too much to ever understand’
(from ‘Atlas) These lines come from a poem called ‘Atlas’ written by my brother Greg over fifteen years ago now. For more than fifteen years this poem (among many others he wrote) has been soothing to me. When I read Greg’s poems I feel like he speaks to me.

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anxiety

“Mummy, why do you always say you feel ‘guilty?'”

The title of this blog post is the question that stopped me in my tracks today. It came from E. The impetus behind the question came from a comment I made to Dr M in the car without thinking after another nesting trip to the land of affordable storage and home organising solutions, a land that admittedly feels a little like Disneyland to me, and can exert a certain siren-call that overrides even the pressure of my tired, swollen feet. Ikea.

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campus living

Our Story… An introduction

‘And that’s why I like living in community,’ she said. ‘We share each other’s lives.’ This sage thought came from a near-stranger, now friend, who I met just today, who offered me and my two small companions generous kindness as she saw us struggling in the lunch line, who sat with us afterwards as E and W played on the college lawn, and who, to the less than quiet background noise of  children’s excited play-voices, opened her heart like a bird unfolding its wings.

Read More
anxiety

For Easter Friday: A truth that cannot be contained in an egg, or a tomb….

‘It is finished.’ (John 19:30) Breathe in these words. Draw them down into your lungs and out again. Breathe in deep. Because this is a deep reality. Not skin-deep, but marrow and bone deep. Soul – deep. As deep as deep can go. This is an exhilarating reality, more freeing and powerful than the wind. A gale-forced liberation. Our sins blown away. Our wounds healed. By his wounds. As our little E likes to say when something is over or missing, it has been ‘disappeared.’ Our sins have been disappeared.

Read More
campus living

Their world: an afternoon in our garden in Mid-March

In the late afternoon at our place a breeze comes through the garden, touching every living thing, including us, with tenderness. Dinner time is almost here. The intense sun has run its course for the day. No need for anymore sunscreen, and hats can finally be abandoned – if desired. We inhabit the garden freely.

Read More
Our Story

Our Story: Pt 1

When I look back over what I have written so far, I see that I have been doing a lot of keyboard-chattering about my children and their exploits, and how they are driving us to delirium. And they have been. And they are (I won’t even go into the details here of how yesterday morning Willem plugged the sink with toilet paper and created a Niagra falls effect in our small bathroom).

Read More
anxiety

Something we are good at… and shouldn’t be

Each time I’ve been about to give birth something happens. My must-do-it-all-right-or-else streak rises like a hungry tiger. My mind whirs with pictures revolving around situations and scenarios where I will potentially fail–feeding, child wrangling, coping,  relating to my husband, relating to anyone, washing my hair, sleeping…

Read More
campus living

Shifting Seasons

Tonight feels like a writing-in night. All the windows and doors in our house are flung wide open to receive the southerly breeze, like weary arms eagerly awaiting an embrace from a long-lost friend. I am sitting at my desk by the large front windows, and for once my commercial-strength floor fan sits silent in front of me, while my keyboard alone taps a semi-rhythmic beat.

Read More
anxiety

MY WEAK = HIS STRONG

‘I’m looking for a still alpine lake
somewhere far off — a lake still enough to sit and stare without fear
and deep enough to understand that
it’s all too much to ever understand’
(from ‘Atlas) These lines come from a poem called ‘Atlas’ written by my brother Greg over fifteen years ago now. For more than fifteen years this poem (among many others he wrote) has been soothing to me. When I read Greg’s poems I feel like he speaks to me.

Read More
anxiety

“Mummy, why do you always say you feel ‘guilty?'”

The title of this blog post is the question that stopped me in my tracks today. It came from E. The impetus behind the question came from a comment I made to Dr M in the car without thinking after another nesting trip to the land of affordable storage and home organising solutions, a land that admittedly feels a little like Disneyland to me, and can exert a certain siren-call that overrides even the pressure of my tired, swollen feet. Ikea.

Read More
campus living

Our Story… An introduction

‘And that’s why I like living in community,’ she said. ‘We share each other’s lives.’ This sage thought came from a near-stranger, now friend, who I met just today, who offered me and my two small companions generous kindness as she saw us struggling in the lunch line, who sat with us afterwards as E and W played on the college lawn, and who, to the less than quiet background noise of  children’s excited play-voices, opened her heart like a bird unfolding its wings.

Read More


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