All posts tagged: time

The gift God gave me this year.

“How’s it been, readjusting to normal life?” I’ve been asked. “Has it been difficult?” After our three-month caravanning adventure from Tassie to Cooktown and back again, you’d’ve thought it WOULD be difficult slotting back into the daily rhythms and responsibilities. Of school lunches and ballet lessons and housework and meetings and juggling jobs and groceries. Instead of beach days and markets and ice-cream and beach days and walks and cafes and beach days. But it hasn’t. And when I look back to that jewel of family time on the road, seeing new things every day, living simply and without much need for clocks and calendars, I recognise something very special that God gave us this year. Time. Yes, he gave us three months. Of time. But those three months have given us an appreciation for the true value of our time. And I’ve said this to so many people lately, but it’s true and I want to share it again. Our family dynamic is so very different since we’ve returned. We relish the time we …

Midnight Musings…

It’s 11:14pm and I can’t sleep. We went to bed early – big day, big weekend in fact. So tired, we said. And I lay in the dark, shifting arms and legs every-which way, to side, to back, to front, to side – nothing comfortable. Then, flat on my back, I entertained the ideas piling in my head like a traffic jam, allowed the list of to-dos their fussing space, scrutinising the finer details of prescriptions to fill, work meetings to attend and school lunches to make. This happens often enough. Sometimes it’s God wanting some time when the house is quiet; He who sustains my body wanting to sustain my soul. But I wondered too if it was more to do with the fact that a white-tail spider dropped from my pyjamas when I grabbed them from under my pillow tonight. Yes, I squealed. Like a girl. And waited for hubby to aid its exit before sweeping down the entire bed and shaking those pjs like they’d committed a serious felony. You know the crawling …

Thankfulness: Time’s Paperweight.

I have on my shelf a paperweight. Remember those? It’s on the shelf because I don’t use it – but it’s too pretty to turf. A glass orb encasing a whorl of deep violet. I guess paperweights once held down loose pages on desks. On a scorching summer’s day, Executive Director Whatsit might have flung open his windows to let the breeze through, making everything quiver and dance. Lucky he had that paperweight to hold down important budget documents! These days, our desks have trays of incoming and outgoing left loose and free, without a thing to pin them down. The windows are screwed shut and air-conditioning doesn’t generally have the same gusty force. So, our paperweights sit as useless objects on shelves. Until last week. I’m reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, a New York Times bestseller (she blogs HERE). If you think my writing is flowery, you’ll think hers is positively botanical! She introduced me to a new – and better – way to handle the finite hours and minutes in a day that begs for …

The Most Generous Gift – And He Gave it to Me

I want to dedicate today’s column centimetres to a charming old man called Denis. Last weekend I volunteered at Launceston’s Harvest Market, standing at one of the gates to proffer a friendly welcome, hand out brochures and give directions to the loos. It was a two-hour shift on a sweltering day, but my gate had the most shade and the least numbers, so I had a wealth of time to sip coffee and people-watch. I’m always strangely thankful for these pockets of idle time when washing, children and inbox aren’t vying for my headspace. Then you walked through the gate, Denis, leaning heavily on your walking stick but so free with your smile. We chatted about the wonderful atmosphere of the market, the best way to cook fish and the smaller details of life, and you ended up standing beside me for at least 40 minutes. Much of that time was spent in what I can only describe as companionable silence. You were comfortable in the hush, in my presence, which was infectious. I was …