Apples of Gold

Love Kneels Down

On Maundy Thursday, I find myself deeply moved by the thought that love kneels. Not proud.Not distant.Not hurried.But low enough to wash feet.Low enough to serve.Low enough to remain tender, even with suffering already gathering at the door. There is something about that image that reaches into me in a very personal way. That on…

A Year of Reflection

I have often thought that life seems to move in ten-year chapters. The first ten years are our childhood, when so much is formed in us quietly and deeply, long before we understand what is shaping us. The second ten are our teenage years, when we begin reaching for our own identity and trying to…

The Other Way Around

Here Down Under, everything always feels a little bit the other way around. While the northern hemisphere is welcoming Easter in springtime and Christmas in winter, we Australians are doing our own upside-down version of things — Christmas in summer heat, with sunburn, salads, and trips to the beach. Then Easter arrives with cooler mornings,…

The Gift of Lament

There is something deeply human and deeply biblical about lament. The Psalms have taught me that faith is not made up only of praise and singing, but also of sighing, longing, questioning, and bringing our sorrows honestly before God. They do not ask us to tidy ourselves up before we come. They do not pretend…

Writing While Able

I have lived for some years now with a certain kind of uncertainty, the kind that quietly follows me even on ordinary days. It is not always loud. Sometimes it sits far enough in the background that I can almost forget it is there. Life feels normal for a while. I breathe a little more…

Tender Beginnings

Although the day might have seemed like just another day, to me it felt like the world had paused for a moment, holding its breath for something extraordinary. The day felt charged, alive, touched by something beyond the usual routine of life. It was one of those rare moments where I could feel the earth…

The Stories We Keep

There is something about flour on the bench and the smell of cardamom and cinnamon in the air that loosens old stories. When I bake with my granddaughter in my kitchen, I notice that I begin again.The same stories. The same tone. Often the same hand gestures. I tell her about my grandmother’s kitchen —…

Water over Rock

This summer, when we visited Marysville, we found ourselves drawn once again to the mountain stream — the one that runs clear and cold through the town, even when the heat settles heavily over the valley. It feels like part of Marysville’s heartbeat, weaving alongside the main street and through the parklands where families gather…

The Speed of Change

There are seasons in life when almost nothing seems to change. Days follow one another so faithfully they begin to blur. Morning arrives, evening settles, and tomorrow looks much like today. Life moves along its tracks with a reassuring rhythm. Predictable. Familiar. Safe. In those seasons, change is so subtle it can almost go unnoticed….

Echoed Dreams

She talks about her dreams as if they are already beginning to take shape — a life imagined in bright strokes, full of meaning and promise. There is certainty in her voice, the kind that doesn’t yet know how easily the world can complicate things. I listen, and I am taken back. I remember dreaming…