All posts filed under: Jesus

My All Time Favourite Birthday Present

It’s an awkward thing, opening presents, isn’t it? Kids have this marvellous rite of passage to react authentically to the gift they have just unwrapped. If they throw it to the side or make some brazen comment like, “It’s just clothes!” – we laugh at them, call them cute for speaking their mind. But in Adult Land, whether it’s a wonderfully thoughtful birthday gift or an I-grabbed-it-from-the-newsagent-on-the-way-here gift, there’s a certain etiquette to be adhered to. The card must be opened first, for example. A comment on the wrapping doesn’t go astray. Some will employ humour by wrestling a little with the method of wrap adhesion (tape, string, staples…) before ripping the paper apart with childish gusto (delightful diversion tactic, really). There might be layers to peel back, building tension to crescendo as cellophane, bubble wrap, tissue paper and styrofoam are gently removed to reveal… what? The moment of truth: can you let your genuine reaction free? Or will you be needing those rusty high school drama class skills once again? It was my birthday today. Would you …

God in the Smell of Frying Onion

  “We get so caught up in the emotional,” she said with her hand splayed across her chest, “and the intellectual,” moving her hand to her right temple. “But God is in the sensory too.” We’d been discussing a soul-weary friend who’d found healing and restoration through cooking. The grip of hand on wooden spoon. The rhythmic flex of muscles as she mixes, mixes. The smells of cocoa, butter, sugar. The cloud of flour. The finger scraped around the bowl’s lip to taste the batter. The warmth of the oven. The satisfaction as she slides the tray into the heat, sets the timer. I know you know what I mean. It’s when those of us with mentally and emotionally demanding jobs (motherhood included) look admiringly at the woman serving our coffee. Oh, for a job that’s only demand is physical – the dash from table to table, the balance of cups and saucers, the binning of coffee grinds – all while the exercise, the aroma, the chatter feeds a strange yearning for tactile stimulation. I …

Five ways to keep Easter real

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. …

Why We’re So Intrigued By Injury

Every parent knows that a Bandaid on a child is so much more than an adhesive strip to mop up blood and keep dirt out of a scrape. The power of these magical stickers should never be underestimated. What’s more, the colourful cartoon characters printed on the more expensive varieties are a novelty du force. The humble Bandaid is a gallant defender of the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ maxim that most parents cling to. Have you noticed how the fine motor skills required to tear open the packet, peel away the fiddly leaves and then smooth the apparatus across the lesion without touching the site of grief brings a beautiful distraction from the trauma of the incident itself? Wonderful invention. But the most perplexing result is observed beyond adult supervision, in the playground, with another little mate seated beside. They are peeling the Bandaid away to, “Come look!” and “Awww!” and to boast “I cut it on dad’s fishing lure!” Yep. There’s the little blubbering mess suddenly dry-eyed, ripping off the dressing to show …