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inspire 15

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At the beginning of last year, I started a hashtag #inspire14 which was all about doing something creative everyday to inspire another. We had people joining in from all over the world, doing creative bits and pieces, to inspire another.

This year I began #inspire15 and I wanted to put some focus into our creativity together.

April Prompts

Here is my challenge. To print, or open this PDF to create from the words I have produced for the month of April.

As you are creative around this word prompt, hashtag #inspire15 to showcase what you have been doing and help one another to live inspired.

I am going to attempt to write here with the words every day of April. However two little people means a lot less time at my desk these days.

Let me know in the comments if you are joining in. Even just one day a week, every couple of days or once this month.

Speak soon O creative ones.

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Small sacrifices

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Tuesday mornings are full of music, dance, laughter and long walks on the beach.

Today I decided I won’t say yes to anyone else except my family on tuesdays.

Today, I am so grateful I didn’t go back to work, even though sometimes this decision drains me. When hands grab at my hair, clothes, buttons, shoes and ears.

Moments that I will never forget, the days when I say goodbye to nappies, teething and tantrums.

Lately I have been overwhelmed at the blessings that come when I make small sacrifices.

Silent revelations.

Mummy moments.

Decisions to say no to that which distracts and yes to what is important.

Thinking about them being little and celebrating these small moments.

Letting go of all the obligations and really trying to be thankful.

Small sacrifices.

Being quiet, when all I want to do is speak my mind.

Saying Thankyou, when I really don’t have the time.

Laying down my phone, when all I want to do is scroll.

Asking questions about others, rather than being consumed with myself.

Small sacrifices.

They truly make a day, that has the capacity to just flow into another, beautiful.

Small

Tiny

Inconsequential

Sacrifices

Conversations

Cuddles

Gratitudes

These are what make up a life.

These are the memories that mark my children’s perceptions of their Mum.

Thankyou, whoever is reading this today, for the small sacrifices you have made to prefer another.

This is the glue that holds our community together.

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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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