All posts filed under: Easter

“I am the bread of life,” he said as I pulled a loaf from the oven.

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I reach to the top shelf of the fridge and grasp the jar, carry it to the bench and twist open the lid. There it is. Barely half a cup of viscous, off-white matter. I heave the flour bag to the benchtop and open its mouth, loosely fastened with a wooden clothes peg, to measure an equal amount into the jar. White particles fly around in the bands of morning light that spill between the slats of sleepy blinds. They settle into the folds of my fluffy white dressing gown, on eyelashes and in the wispy blonde hair of a certain three-year-old who is chasing cuddles. Water next. The same amount again measured carefully into the jar, splashing up the sides and swallowed into the parched flour. Then I stir, round and round, round and round, until it clings together. Making sourdough has become a part of my week’s rhythm. Usually we have two loaves freshly baked for the weekend, and I love nothing more than cutting off a generous slice, still just a little …

Five ways to keep Easter real

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Easter is the most important time on the Christian calendar, right? Which explains why I get to this time of the year and fret over how I can give Easter its due weight of significance. God gave so much for us – how can I appropriately acknowledge that? Not in a religious way, mind, but in a way that focuses my thinking and gives new revelation of Easter’s gift. With two little ones in the fold, I’m also conscious of the way we do Easter for them. I’m not opposed to a good old Easter egg hunt, but I want them to grow up with a clear understanding that this time of the year is more about Jesus than chocolate. Which is why I sat down and wrote these five things I’ll be focusing on this Easter to keep it real. ONE. Attend a gathering of some description. It could be a church service or an Easter parade, a festival, feast or mass. The important thing is to be part of a throng of like-minded people. …

Acorn or Oak? Allow Jesus’ Greatness to Speak.

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My son is a collector. Doesn’t matter much what the object is, but were you to drop in at our place on any given day you would find small collections stashed in tins, on plates and in plastic bags. Vacated snail shells. Pebbles. Old business cards. Once, he collected a pile of broad bean husks and we didn’t find his hidey hole until months later, mould and all! But his all-time favourite is acorns. Every trip to the park sees him return home with fistfuls of acorns, pockets bulging with the things (although he insists they are coconuts). Recently, we planted some. We explained that from the unassuming little orb buried in a pot of dirt would sprout a tree – a grand and towering oak tree with strong sprawling branches and a height that would dwarf even daddy! Did he understand?  No.  He was still looking at the acorn nestled in his palm. He liked the acorn, he could appreciate the acorn but he couldn’t truly grasp its potential. In a few short days we …