The miserable grey clouds have cacooned us in their layers of misery and send downpours onto our heads and roofs. The rain seeps into our shoes and dampens our feet. It finds cracks on our roof tops and trickles down the walls forming a puddle on the the carpet -the pitter-patter is a persistant song.

At first the downpour was a welcomed relief from the heat. But now everything is wet. Out feet, our clothes, our car seats that catch drops when we hastily climb in and out. Where is the sun?!

It is up there, hovering just above the thick blanket. It is slowly penetrating the glass sealing from the outside and soon we will see its rays and feel its warmth on our faces. There is hope…

The Lull

The price she pays for peace of mind is silence; a lull during which there are no ripples in the water, it is quiet; not a breath of wind or movement. She’s at a loss during those times. She longs for the bustle of activity, chatter and laughter, arguments or  something! “How do you do it though?!” She has been asked. She doesn’t know how to answer that. But such times are to be enjoyed. She is learning to give her energy to the trivial things; not the detrimental trivia but the reading and cleaning and organising and re-organising as she awaits the next activities. She thinks that is the trick to living in the lull – not to try to survive the lull, but to own the moment as though she chose it.


She threw her toys out of the cot. She screamed and cried like a spoilt brat. What did all that wait talk mean now when it seemed so impossible? What she saw in her review mirror was evidence of her dillusions. But did He not say, “wait, and I’ll come through for you”? Did He not confirm that the answer is “Yes!”? Now it seems to be more immovable than a mountain and her faith smaller than the smallest mustard seed. Those words whispered in the secret, quiet place seem now to be the mumbles of a mad woman, desperate to have her way. She was so sure they were the words  of the most faithful and steadfast, prayer answering God.Faith is not an easy thing. But Faith works in the realm of the impossible.


She has suitcases full of clothes; scarves she folds and refolds and saves for the coldest winter day,that dress she will wear when the weather is just right, those cute shoes that just need a fresh coat of polish or glue to hold them together. There is a box full of… stuff; gift bags she swears she will reuse, a little floormat that she will lay out -one day; a washing basket – she’s sure she can use that for something. But all that stuff, like people, has taken up too much space in her vacuum. The suitecases are spilling over and the boxes just make the room look clustered. She doesn’t wear those scarves and that dress is just not her anymore. She is changing, morfing, evolving, and that’s ok. Change comes and change is necessary…