A creative’s job is to go out into the space and report back on it. To remind the world that there is a reason for space, that there is thinking to be done there. There are answers to the universe in the spaces.

God is telling us to do things a certain way, asking us to trust that even when we don’t fully understand, obedience is still the wisest path.

It turns out that leaving all that was known to go and do the ‘Lord’s work’ has had an interesting effect on my sense of self.

There is a big difference between a holding pattern and a liminal space. They both involve waiting, but the difference is in the quality and purpose of that waiting.

When I left New Zealand for Budapest, I stopped calling New Zealand home, but it definitely wasn’t from lack of love.

If you know me, you know I’m not a details person. But in order to get where we need to go, they have to be sorted. So here I sit, rifling through papers, praying I don’t miss something important that could cost us dearly.

Since I’m thrice-coffeed (and my ramblings in this state can be hard to follow), I thought I’d make a small list of the things I’ve been noticing during our present wanderings. Scroll at your leisure, coffee optional, I shall not partake in another lest I completely write myself off.

God is always directing, pivoting, and clearing ways for us when there seems to be no way, using painful situations to bring out that deep character that comes from abiding in Him.

I’m finding hope in the idea of a new balance—one where a steady and happy home life can thrive alongside ministry.

When we read the Bible and its laws, we should see them as God’s way of breaking down a big vision into achievable steps, both on a large scale and an individual level.

It would be no exaggeration to say I haven’t truly been alone for a very long time. Since I was a young child, I've always craved companionship. In new situations, I would seek it out as soon as possible.

Now, I find myself on the precipice of another loss, feeling that familiar guilt and shame for my grief.

When something painful wounds us, we need to handle it gently, taking care to assess and clean it out. But then healing needs to follow—hopefully with minimal scarring—but it definitely needs to happen.

Why am I talking about netball courts and awkward prepubescent interactions? Because now, in 2024, at 36 years of age, I still feel the same way.

I don’t believe God stops talking. I think He’s speaking right now. But the noise of life and the voices in our head get in the way, and His whisper goes unheard.

I’m a bit of a snob. I like my coffee houses how I like my men: I stick with just the one.

Miss you a lot. Funny how we don’t say that over the phone. But there it is. There are a few people in my life who would give a kidney to be able to say that to their dad a couple more times. So I wanted to say it now.

Perhaps it’s best to avert your eyes, avoiding the nuances and the pain. Maybe if it’s not seen it can be tidy and clear, sparing you from wading into the unfathomable mess.

My feelings were being confronted with truth, and truth trumps feelings.

In a job where we think we’re here to do good and bring God, light, and the gospel, what I’m finding is that there is a concurrent journey of God bringing light to the darkest recesses of my heart.