I feel so alone in a world that is more connected than ever before. Loud typing, opinions rising. Hope fading. It’s been hard to write because of the echo chamber of culture.
Can love be a quiet revolution?
Once a month, on a Friday, I listen to and write my Ouma’s life story. After meeting her in South Africa over the summer, we write down all her stories over the phone.
All my grandparents have passed on. My grandfather, whom I never met, died of skin cancer when my Mum was only 15. I remember my Dad telling me that his Dad had died, having a heart attack whilst mowing the lawn. Nanna was as short as they come and as loud as a football match. We stood in a circle around her hospital bed singing songs to Jesus, with her family unable to fill the room. And my Grandma passed only a short sleep ago, and it was a privilege to sit in the room with her in those very still hours after she had passed.
Legacy is heavy, and our society’s attention is so short. We have created a goldfish bowl of consumerism— surely there is a new way of being. Grief has captured the fun in our corridors as a family; those easy things don’t come so easily anymore. As we move house this Easter, I wonder what my Dad would think of our choices and if there is one more keepsake of his that I can draw out of the back shed, to hold something he once had as well.
I remember the night when my Nanna died of pneumonia, albeit it was so quiet, with her grandchildren holding hands in a circle around her, I walked out as a 20-something and lying on our couch, was my Mum holding her mother’s nightgown, drawing out the presence from the recent moment passing.
Presence is a weighted offering. In a world always delighted by someone else’s story, what does it mean for us to exist in the ordinary of the moment present? Artificial stories are pounding out of machines globally, with more content than ever, more streaming, more conversations, and more fear of missing out.
I have been intentionally switching off my phone and leaving it behind. The tidal surge of voices has overtaken my own, and it’s hard to know what it means to be genuinely present anymore. Maybe it’s the significant hormonal changes from perimenopause or my remote job with back-to-back Zoom meetings, my brain needs rest.
My heart needs a face-to-face connection. When was the last time you had a deep and meaningful with your friend in person?
No one prepares you for what our forties contained and the desire to leave a legacy longer than the ones we loved, who we lost so quickly. No one talks about the confusion that losing estrogen overnight brings and late-night worry parties in our heads. Scrolling becomes a way to disconnect from the real feelings of grief and loss, yet it creates more space between the life you want and the one you are present within.
Watching other humans filter their lives with perfection shuts down the very beauty of our imperfect world.
My marriage is imperfect.
My family is imperfect.
I am far from perfect.
And let’s not talk about my work life balance.
This is a new way of being. Truly feeling the thoughts and emotions that rise and fall within our human experience. It is a call to imperfection.
Then, on my quiet Friday, I find myself on a call with Ouma. Sometimes, I’m fresh from a nap, or I’m turning my phone off all day. I listen and talk through life’s seasons with someone in their nineties, with over nine decades of laps of the sun. And being present becomes easy. Feeling less alone with my stories settles into a known comfort. Remembering the care of the flowers in her garden, the gentle breeze of South Africa and what it felt like to be nurtured as a family into a place of healing and rest.
Listening and reflecting— a quiet revival of hospitality.
This Easter, what is your new way of being? God calls us into His presence, just as much as we long for the connection to those in our here and now. If you have been looking for steadiness amid a season of rolling waves of storm surge, these scriptures remind you of the disconnect we all feel in our human form.
Psalm 46:10
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
— An invitation to pause, breathe, and trust.
Matthew 6:34
“Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
— A call to live in today, not tomorrow.
Proverbs 4: 25–27
“Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you… Do not swerve to the right or the left.”
— Encouragement to stay grounded in the here and now.
I am listening to a powerful audiobook called The Unplugged Hours. It encourages readers to download a framework for documenting 1000 unplugged hours annually. These hours could be spent in the gym, walking on the beach, in the garden, writing on paper, reading a paper book, talking at a cafe, or drinking tea with a neighbour.
How could you frame your legacy with presence?
A New Way of Being – Journaling Prompts
- What does ‘being present’ with my family look and feel like?
- What distractions pull me away most often? How can I reduce or remove them?
- When was the last time I truly felt connected with my family? What made that moment special?
- Which family rituals or routines matter most to us? How can I protect them?
- What’s one small moment with a loved one I’m grateful for this week?
- How can I slow down and create space for deeper connection today?
- What would happen if I put my phone away for the afternoon? How would I feel?
