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Church, it was never designed to…

God, spirituality, hope

God, spirituality, hope

Most Sundays I wake and the first thing on my mind is Church. Not the hipster interpretation of a group of people judging each other for what they wear and how cool their instagram feed is.

Church; intentional, beautiful, broken, often disappointing.

What thoughts come to mind when you think about it?

Old men wearing robes and swinging incense?

Scandals, laced with deeply hypocritical dialogues?

Times when you have trusted people and they have completely broken that trust? or

Moments of sacred contemplation lighting a candle for a loved one?

Music?

Money?

Coffee?

Fashion?

Judgement?

What comes to mind?

The word Church actually means a gathering of people. A community of people seeking God, taking time to reflect on their internal spiritual worlds and encouraging one another to look outside of that introspective place.

Sundays make me think about my people, my faith, intentions, opportunities, forgiveness, forgetting or trying to do my best to let go at least.

Church is not;

a set of rules,

an obligation,

rituals,

make believe,

a crutch for the weak,

a costume that you wear.

Lately I have been consumed with seeking the new.  New days, new ways. Echoes in my heart over and over.

What is next? What needs to be left behind? What is religion? What is real?

In my pursuit of truth, I don’t want to lose sight of what is good, what is meant to be hard, what is beautifully incomplete.

Church.

It will never fulfil every desire, it will never be perfect, it will never satisfy you, because it was never designed to.

It was designed to make you hungry.

It was designed to make you seek.

It was designed to make you hope.

It wasn’t designed to give you all the answers because people can’t, only One who is greater can do this.

Church, its not just something I do with my friends (as much as love to)…

It is brutal. It confronts. It makes me feel awkward. It hurts.

It also heals, it reforms, it refreshes, it challenges, it brings new life.

Church; People, questions, seeking, hoping.

It is the hope of the world.

Fallen.

But designed to be free.

If your experience of church has been broken, you are not alone. Don’t throw away the deeply sacred journey of doing life in community because it doesn’t satisfy all your needs.

It was never designed to.

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jump puddles in your nightie

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This morning rain came to our seaside home for the first time in months. Waking to the sound of rain and the warmth of my doona was a gift for this tired mumma this morning.

My son came softly into our room telling us the sun was up and there were puddles to be conquered. ‘Rain has come mum. Can I put my chicken boots on?’

You see he has this pair of gum boots that he only wears when he visits his Nan’s chickens. Today he connected the boots and the rain, ready to explore.

Boots were thrown on, rain jackets peeled over and the puddles became his playground.

‘Take a photo Mum, take a photo.’ but I was only in my nightie and hadn’t even managed a coffee yet. The milk was off, the coffee machine sat ready and I picked up my camera.

Some days, you just need to capture moments that are right in front of you. Making brain pictures of your less than perfect, immeasurably beautiful life.

Running around half naked in the rain with your three year old makes the most perfect start to our weekend.

What memories are in your today that you might be missing?

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educating girls

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A book and a pen can be used as a weapon in the hand of someone who harnesses its power.

I remember day after day, month after month the disillusionment I felt in going to school day after day. I also remember the day I looked back at my university education and regretted not taking it more seriously.

It is only now, in my thirties that I understand the importance of a library. The brilliance of a teacher that engages in their students life. The sacrifices of my parents so that I could go to a private school, when they gave me opportunities that they never had.

Knowledge brings power.

Education is not a right, it is a privilege.

Educating our girls, our women and our sisters brings change and opportunity to the darkest of places.

Over the last month I have been reading I am Malala. It hasn’t been an easy read, but it has been a provoking one. Each page I read, the more I am empowered with knowledge about the privilege of the age that we live in.

I stare at the piles of books in my room realising they are such a privilege. Going to school, going to university is not a compulsory obligation, it is a gift that not every person receives.

There are girls in Pakistan, who want desperately to learn, but they are denied the opportunity. There are women in Iraq, who are illiterate and would give anything to learn to read. There are people in our own neighbourhoods, who so wanted an education, but were stopped.

As I write. As I sit here today at my computer. There are women who dream of being able to just read. Anything. Something. To understand.

“Let us pick up our books and our pens,” I said. “They are our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher, one book and one pen can change the world.” 

Malala Yousafzai

Lately, I have been so frustrated by the small conflicts that find their way into our everyday western lives. The inconveniences of daily life in an age where we have every opportunity available to us. The conversations that seem so selfish, when I reflect upon the lives of girls, who are shot on their way to school. Women who are unable to show their faces. Girls who are relegated to hidden lives in kitchens, bedrooms and places removed from any perspective or opportunity to explore knowledge in freedom.

This has been grieving my heart. The conversations of the west. The obsessions we have with our events and our churches, our bars, our clubs, our hair, our clothes, our instagram feeds. The lack of perspective, in how amazingly blessed we are.

Perspective gained over the last while of reading this tenacious souls little journey.

This book has changed me.

If you would like to read this book, click the link and book depository will send it to you without any postage costs; I am Malala

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i admire…

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Admiration is a beautiful opportunity in a world full of so much judgement.

I admire people for many different reasons…

Mostly silently whilst I walk the shops, times when I sit and watch a documentary, sometimes at the beach as someone walks past slowly.

I admire single parents. I cannot imagine the late nights, with a sick child alone, those times when there is no one to hold your hand, when you wait for answers from the doctors. I admire your tenacity, I admire how you keep on going. I admire the two jobs you juggle just to make ends meet. If you are a single parent, I have never judged or discounted your opinion, I admire every single part of your being.

I admire people over eighty. Even when they are a little cranky, I kind of like it. They have so much perspective to give. I ask my Grandmother questions all the time. Most responses come with a roll of her eyes, but I know secretly she loves it and even more than that I know she appreciates my attention. I especially love watching old people in love. It does something to my soul that I cannot explain. Seeing an elderly man, grab the hand of his silver haired lover, makes my heart race with romance and hope for the future.

I admire creative entrepreneurs. Writers, dancers, poets, social media content creators, film students. Anyone taking their view of the world and having a go. Anyone, who has written something and dared to press publish. Any one who has gone back to university in pursuit of realising their dreams. I admire the creative folk, who celebrate another persons weird. Who don’t back bite, compete, copy and compare. Who just run their race and make things happen. I admire the risk takers, the music makers, the mummy bloggers, the dance teachers. I think you are all rad.

I admire my husband and his work colleagues, who spend their days with young people at risk. People who take a chance on a young adult, who has attitude to boot and opinions bigger than the bell tower. I admire youth workers, youth chaplains, youth pastors, youth leaders, youth juvenile officers, social workers. People who create opportunities for the future of our nation to find freedom in the beauty of living a simple and moral life.

I admire cleaners. I watch and thank janitors, rubbish men and food hall cleaners all the time. I appreciate their attention to detail. I appreciate how hard they work for their families. I am humbled by their selflessness in taking time to serve another. Whether they are paid or not, I think they are the salt of the earth. Our country is blessed with the beauty of cleanliness, because someone cared enough to take our over abundance of rubbish away. The event managers, the program coordinators, the production personnel, all the people that create beautiful environments that we enjoy so often without attributing to their efforts.

I admire those in our community who overcome insurmountable odds. The mothers and fathers who have had sick children long term, the parents who were once orphaned who now raise a family with pride. The visually impaired, the hearing challenged, those who have lost limbs, those who have been in tragic accidents. I admire tenacity. I admire pure grit. I admire an overweight person jogging down our beach. I admire people who wear their bikinis with pride after a mastectomy. I admire the depth of the human spirit, to dig deep and push through even when it hurts. I admire people who don’t play the victim but get help and move past the tragedies that have ensnared them.

I admire the everyday person who is honest. Who tells the truth. Who isn’t trying to be something that they are not.

I admire the person who says sorry, who owns their part to play in the breakdown of relationship, who restores, forgives and trusts again.

I admire anyone who has been hurt in love, who loves again.

I admire kind humans. The person that believes the best and loves deeply.

If you are any of these things, it is quite possible I have spent time thinking about how amazing I think you are.

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my locals

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The more I settle into my beachside little village, the more I fall in love with its beauty, personalities and the perfection of the simple life it offers. When I bought a unit in a small group 1970’s Hawaiian beach flats, I never imagined that five short years later that I would call it home with my family of four.

I thought it would be a great holiday destination, when I came to visit periodically through the year. As I walk the beaches and stand in line at the shopping centre, memories of growing up, flood my consciousness nearly everyday.

I remember the lolly shop that was on the corner as I walk the beach. I walk past the little town hall that was the location of my amateur theatre company productions and remember how huge I thought it was and now it seems so tiny, so backward. I remember the forts and teepees we would build on the beach and the sand fights that would go on for days between my cousins and I.

Sometimes I feel like ‘Mrs Mangles’, as I walk the streets and notice the little things that make a community thrive. I love my locals. Our cafe, the bakery, the library, the parks, the Thai restaurant, the butcher, our little deli. My son does dancing at the yacht club every tuesday morning and we walk slowly watching the wildlife inhabit their island home.

My favourite local cafe called the pond barista, which has a completely gluten free menu has a little precious part of my heart. The owners are brilliant and the colour and life it brings to our local area is sublime.

These are the things that have made this ordinary tuesday, one that is full of life for this little Mumma. An interview on the radio this morning, walking down the beach to dance class with my toddler, bumping into a great friend and her dog at the coffee shop, filled with great conversation and even greater coffee.

Memories that make the ordinary beautiful.

A life lived intentionally supporting and encouraging our local businesses to thrive.

These now are the days that I will be making memories in my seaside town, that one day my babies will think back fondly upon.

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