rushing waters

brain tired of thinking, simple tasks becoming mammoth mountains, and these words ringing in my ears….

‘if the world started with a ball of energy, and the only thing that existed before that was God, then surely He is the source of all energy…’

home; candles, music, paints, bible, blank pages, and breathing it all in.

trying to gain some of His majestic energy, His creator energy, resting in Him.

and processing it all, here in this space, this tiny corner of the world wide web.


the hands of a clock

Before I knew how a clock worked, before I knew that minute hands and second hands existed, I remember asking my mum to do something with me, she told I need to wait for an hour when she was done with whatever she was doing. She told me to wait until the hand had gone all the way around the clock.

So I sat, in our hallway, in front of the piano staring at the clock. But as I didn’t understand the complex notion of the hour, minute and second hand, I decided that the slowest moving one was the one I was to watch. That it had to move through every number. I decided the hour was actually a whole day. That my mum was asking me to wait that long, and it seemed like it was forever.

But the joy of the moment where it was sooner than I thought. That was sweet.

For no reason at all, that memory stayed with me, always and forever it seems. And it creeps into my brain when I begin to complain about waiting. Waiting for anything. Waiting for food, or people, or life events to happen.

Waiting is a game I hate playing. (so maybe that is the reason I remember)

Anyways in some areas of life, I feel like I am waiting. Waiting for promises and waiting for dreams and waiting for events to happen. Waiting is hard, and beautiful and weird and exciting.

I’m still figuring out how to do waiting well, how to use the time, how to rest in the before, how to not wish away the time, how to be content, how to stay happy, not be frustrated…All the things.

But maybe sometimes it is okay to sit and stare at a clock for a while. To acknowledge the frustrations and the pain in the waiting. And maybe to ask the people around you to stand in those things with you. To let you rant at kitchen tables while they cook (and you eat off their chopping board). To just give the time to acknowledge that waiting is a hard game to play.



We didn’t take any photos 

Alice came to stay. 

The sweet beautiful girl I shared the top floor with for two years, and my heart with more times that I can count. 

She booked a flight, packed a bright yellow bag and flew across Europe to walk in step with me for 5 days. 

She met everyone all at once, because it happened to be a birthday party weekend, and pancake day celebrations. 

She churched and worked and slipped wonderfully into the life I live here. 

I didn’t plan anything special, (apparently I’m not that type of host). But it was perfect and simple and life breathing. 

When someone knows you for so long there is a different perspective they give. One that says ‘hey, i know you, you’re doing okay here’. 

We didn’t take any photos, I guess it kind of got forgotten, we were too busy talking and living life together again for a while. 

Alice, come back whenever you want: mattress, sofa or whatever I can offer you. I’ll fold some sheets in a draw with your name on them. 




Around three months ago I sat on a chair in front of a group of people and talked about prayer. I talked about what I had learnt as I looked at Jesus and his life. What I saw in his prayer life, in his daily actions.

Intimacy basically. The quiet, hidden, behind closed door place was where I ended up.

And then I got busy again. Busy trying to fit a thousand thoughts and actions in a day all the while missing what I spoke about on that day.

But here is the thing, I don’t actually think I was that busy.

I had a job to do, and life things which take time, but I was not actually busy or stressed. I just didn’t know how to manage my time, prioritise the important things, or live in a routine.

And as I traveled back for Christmas, and New Years and time off I thought about how little time I had taken to spend in the quiet, in the hidden intimate places.

The time where you get to sit at the feet of God and lay it all out, and read his word and his guiding. And slowly as my holiday and rest came to an end, I began to make lists and plans.

Figure out the ways in which I can prioritise my time. I have found myself realising that so many times I blame everything around me for making my life ‘busy’ or ‘stressed’ forgetting that I have the capability to stop, breath and take a bit of control.

I think maybe I have brought into the lie that rushing around with 1000 things to do is what makes you successful, and that being a busy person means you are valuable. Some where along the line I think I decided that to be loved, to be accepted, to be someone, then you need to have a life where your diary is full and your to-do lists are longer than your arm, and so I looked to live life in that way.

And as I start 2016 I think it is time to let go of that lie. To see that spending time behind a closed door, sat with a bible and listening to God is so much more important than anything else.  You cannot claim to have a friendship with someone who you never make time to speak to, and you cannot give out when you are empty.

So I want to be slower, be quieter, be more aware of the stillness that is needed. I want to loose track of time sometimes, and not worry about the to-do lists.


One thing

I have been sick all weekend. Cancelled plans and all. And as I sit in bed at 8pm about to shut down lights and technology in the hope of waking up better for the Monday morning start, I am listening to a song…

“You are the one thing that I need, You are the one thing that I need.”

I haven’t written in a while, (which was not my plan in the last post I wrote I know) I haven’t really been able to get out of my head everything that has changed or moved since September. But above all else that has changed and adapted in those few months these lyrics could define them.

I am realising more and more than there is one thing above all else that I need and that is God. It is Jesus. It is time with him, spent sitting waiting on him. It is not a new revelation but it feels like an urgent one. One where I know more now than before that I really truly need it.

I don’t think we necessarily ever leave seasons of being molded but for sure Isaiah 64:8 is ringing in my ears over everything right now.

 “And yet, o Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, and you are the potter. We all are formed by your hand.
With each new week I can feel myself being stretched and pulled in the best of ways: the way a potter throws his clay around, making it the right texture before molding it… in the way that you know everything will feel different in 6 months.

Currently my brain feels full of cotton wool but at some point maybe I will try and put together the words to explain everything that has been going on in my head.


afraid to write

“the thing you are most afraid to write, write that.”
This quote has sat in the draft section of this blog for about a year. I see it each time I log in and each time before this I said “no way”; The quote makes sense to me, because I think most often what we are afraid to write, or speak or share, or let the world see is linked to the things that make us vulnerable. It just seemed too big to tackle.
But this week I responded to a banterous comment in a way I never have before, and the response came back something like this:
‘well, there speaks a women who is healed’
A tiny, throw-away comment, made over lunch in the midst of a busy day in a busy week. But it stayed with me and has been playing over in my head since then.
And I think this is why.
Because this week I didn’t get upset, or offended, or angry. I didn’t take the comment as a reflection on my character, or identity. The words of someone else did not effect me in the way that they had done in the past.
And tonight as I have sat down to write after not writing in so long, I have begun to see that above everything else that has happened, God has and is healing me.
He has slowly, gently, beautifully picked up the pieces of me that made me misunderstand my identity and showed me the truth.
The truth that my identity is in Him. That my identity has nothing to do with my face or body shape. It has nothing to do with the things others say or do in regards to me. My identity is not as short or brunette or loud or extroverted or introverted or organised or messy. My identity has nothing to do with the boxes and structures we humans seem to love to place one another in.
It is 100% to do with Him.
My identity is to do with pointing to Him, worshiping Him, following Him.
His creation of humankind, His love as a Father, as a King, as a Friend. His desire to be close and in relationship with us. My identity is in that relationship, in His grace (which I am forever trying to understand), in His might and wonder. In His love, compassion and heartache for the world.
I’ve been scared to make public, to write the process of it all. I’ve been scared to make public that I have had to ask the King of Heaven to break down walls and chisel off things I have held so tightly to, scared to admit that I have hidden behind causes and false ‘independent women’ statements rather than dealing with the pain or the anger.
I still do not have it all together, I still over-think sometimes and get offended and angry. I still have things in me which need healing. But I no longer find myself walking into every room with the need to prove something.
 He is enough for me, and by His grace He accepts me as I am.
So I am going to write, to be disciplined and write.
About the journey, and the reality of it all. About the things which make me a bit afraid and vulnerable.
I will always try to point to God, to Jesus in it all, because I do not know anything else in the world that is more real or wonderful than them.

Vienna: a selfie story 

We got a night train to meet a Finnish girl in Austria.

Coffee, Christmas markets, good food, Glühwein and a few selfies later, we had the best mini break any group of girls could ask for.

Having an international family is always a good thing. Especially when they let you sleep on their floors and show you the cities they live in.

  We arrived!!!! 

That big building, the yellow one is the King’s palace.

And this one was his queen’s brunch house: we all want one.

This is what we do in coffee shops

A bitter sweet goodbye before a train back home.

We love you Miia!




I’m most comfortable with my legs a mess folded below me and my hair bundled up on my head; coffee cup sat to the side of me and laptop and books in front.

I don’t know what it is about that position which brings so much joy to me…maybe too many idyllic tumblr pictures with the suggestion of a perfect life. But it is where I write best, where I process best and generally where I feel more at peace with myself.

I have taken to creating nests of blankets and cushions around me, especially over this past week which I spent confided at home ill.

Mostly I have been trying to sleep away whatever virus has been in me, but a week in bed and nests has given me a chance to catch up with myself. To think (and probably overthink) some things through. To allow my brain to day-dream and process all the notes that have stacked up in my journal over the past few weeks, months and years.

I’ve entered my third year here now, in the little village I now call home. I find that often when I talk of home I generally mean people, but recently we have just had a new influx of people while others have left and moved onto new exciting projects and lives. And I have begun to realise that even with all these goodbyes and hellos, I have carved out a actual physical place called home.

The more I say goodbye, the more time I find myself seeking that cosy nest where I manage to process life, and read more about God and Jesus and Holy Spirit. And the more I read, and pray and process, the more I begin to see why I am here, who brought me here, and what it truly means to say that I love God and choose Him above all else.

And truly I guess, that is where I have found my home. Because somehow here, amongst this constant changing group of wonderful people, in this village, I have found out what it means to seek Him and find my home in Him.