12 years

144 months

620+/- weeks

4,340+/- days

That is how long I have been breastfeeding and/or pregnant without a break.

A third of my life.

I do not say this to boast, hear my heart. I know so many do not have the privilege of even one of those days. And the fact that I have had so many is the greatest honour of my life, never for a moment have I taken it for granted. I have felt the weight and the responsibility and the privilege of it every one of those days.

It has been the hardest, most beautiful joy.

This journey, this chapter, this season of my life came to a very abrupt, yet not entirely unexpected end this week. I had always planned on feeding Mallee until he was three. I had always planned on beginning the weaning process around this time, but the nature and circumstances around this milestone have not been quite what I had in mind. I did not expect the medical issues or the time away from him, the antibiotics I did not want to pass on to his beautiful little tummy and the suddenness of it all. Yet there has been a beautiful grace in it. Even though it has been so incredibly hard, it has been easy. He is so excited for Daddy to put him to bed like the big kids, to have his little chats and his bottom pats and a hundred million sips of water.

He is so ready.

It’s me that isn’t.

But even so, I know it’s time. Time for me to heal, for me to replenish vastly depleted resources, for me to sleep, for me to have ownership over my body again after it being a vessel for little lives for the past 12 years, for me to be a better, more present wife and to figure out who I am again.

There is definitely a mourning here, as any mother would agree, when you realise that your babies still need you desperately for life but they no longer need you for survival. There is a letting go. There is a shift. And it’s hard. And it’s beautiful. It’s what life is. It’s the ever passing passage of time. It is change.

And it is also joy.

Joy for new seasons and new days and all the adventures ahead that life with all these growing up kids promises – kids who will hopefully have a mom who is well rested and well nourished and not back to who she was before, but maybe back to something better.

I am proud of myself.

Proud of myself for the pregnancies, the births, the newborn days, the newborn nights, the tears, the exhaustion, the pain. Proud of myself for over a decade of wearing feeding friendly clothes and making difficult dietary choices, for the missing out on so much but really not missing out on anything at all.

And mostly I am proud of myself for today, sitting here, with my body that looks nothing like it did, my new and old curves and stripes, my scars and my tears… and I am proud of myself for knowing that right now it is the right time.

Time to let this go. 

And I am so grateful to Jesus, every day, for giving me the strength and grace that I have needed over the last 12 years. I couldn’t have done it without Him. I can’t do it without Him. And I know I am going to need infinitely more of that grace and strength for the decades to come, where there will be so many more moments of letting go. 

My pastor recently said, “Being a mother is choosing to give up your body for the sake of another… a sacrificial love… that you would have had honour of choosing to sacrifice yourself for the life of another human being… it is sacred.”

What joy to have had that honour 5 times over. What an honour to have lived 12 years, a third of my life, in this sacred space of nourishing little lives with my body.

What peace there is in this moment.

What hope there is for the future.

Thank you James McGilvray, Lydia Eden, Lachlan Honour, Eveleigh Joy, Malachi Michael for being patient with me, for loving me, and for making it so easy for me to give my all to loving you.

Only upwards from here.

Do you ever wonder how you will react or respond when things happen that you don’t expect to happen? When life doesn’t look quite like how you thought, or your plans get thrown out the window when life sends you on an unwelcome Segway. Do you like to think of yourself as an ever ready pillar of light and love and hope, ready to face all of the hard with all of the strength and determination, but also with poise and grace and everything befitting of a strong capable human being who has their life together and can cope when life isn’t very awesome?

Things have an uncanny way of flinging themselves into perspective when your world goes a little lopsided and you find yourself standing, shaking, on uneven shaky ground. And if you’re anything like me, and I hope to goodness at least someone is, when the hard comes (and the hard does come) you find yourself not so strong and rosy after all, all resolve gone. Instead of standing strong and courageous ready to face the battle, you actually just wants to scream and run away, but also curl up and cry.

So heroic.

There have been many times I have assured myself that when ‘such and such’ happens I will most definitely respond like the wonderful giver of light and love and grace that I am. But in reality, I just find that I am fully let down by me. Once again disappointed with myself and my human response to my humanity. Naive little me likes the romantic version of myself, I like to think I could cope really well with all that life would throw at me. But that rose coloured version of Ferne was blooming in my mind before life had really thrown much at me at all.

We went through a season of big change and big hard recently. And I did not respond to it the way I thought or hoped I would. In hindsight it’s easy to say “If only we had know, we shoulda, woulda, coulda…” but I didn’t know. Void of security and certainty, surrounded by ifs and maybes and nothings to build on, second guessing ourselves every step of the way, no longer seeing things through rose coloured glasses, barely seeing anything at all. Things could have gone very differently and we are blessed with the way things did work out in the end, but in the midst of the battle it is so hard to stand tall and strong and courageous when there is nowhere solid to place your feet. Don’t get me wrong, the season brought many silver linings and blessings I will be forever grateful for. We are stronger and better as a result and I am so thankful for it. But it was hard in ways I didn’t know. And the hardest part was the disappointment in myself for not quite getting anywhere close to the ‘flourishing in the face of adversity’ benchmark I naively thought I could reach.

But my ever loving, ever long suffering husband told me I needed a focus shift. He said I was looking at it all wrong. He told me to stop focussing on the what ifs and the failures and the wasted time, but just take a minute to see what battles I did fight and win, the times I did get back up again or get up at all, all the tiny moments where I didn’t let it all consume me. He even told me to count the literal loaves of bread I baked and seeds I sowed in the garden, the times when I didn’t yell at the kids, the kilometres I did run. Dinner on the table. Clothes on the line. Tears wiped away. Kisses on foreheads. Words written. Because they were all wins. Every single one. Tiny victories. I thought that all that time I was standing still, or worse – going backwards… but when I stopped to count the little triumphs it turned out that, in spite of the war waged against us, we never once stopped moving forwards. Even when the motion was so slow I could barely see even see it. It was there. A pillar of light and love and hope. Strength and determination. Grace.

Hello. It’s been a while. Turns out I didn’t have much to say. I guess the last two years have crushed the old creativity somewhat. But here I am, back again. Or at least trying. Still not sure I have much to say but maybe I’ll find some words along the way

It occurred to me the other day that most peoples instagram feed isn’t filled with homeschoolers and homesteaders, the odd prepper and a bunch of goats and I thought, “who on earth do ‘normal’ people follow if they’re not following all this?!” I’m genuinely curious, because if you’re not learning how to make your own chicken feed, the best way to preserve meat and how to teach your kids the anatomy of an octopus, what exactly are you doing?!

If you’re anything like me (and I hope at least some of you are, so I’m not a big loner in all this ha!) the last two years of the world imploding has meant you’ve spent bit more time in a virtual world of scrolling and watching and insta-rabbit trails, whether its watching videos of goats (I really love goats hey) or travel or design or politics or memes about cats or whatever Blake Lively wore to the latest event. If that’s not you then well done amazing human ha, but for those of us who often find ourselves escaping through a screen, maybe these thoughts could be for you.

I know a million people have said a million things about ‘comparison,’ it’s a well discussed topic. But I had a little personal revelation that I thought I’d share. So here are my 2 cents that maybe no-one asked for!

As I said, I follow a lot of homeschoolers and homesteaders because that’s my world, well at least the homeschooling part is (working on the old ‘steading!) So I see all sorts of different people doing all sorts of different things. I get inspired and motivated and encouraged… by most of them. But there is one account which I found having the absolute opposite affect. A family that I have followed for years, who are doing everything I want to do.. but seemingly better. And who are doing everything I wish I was doing and all the things I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do. Her kids are brilliant, and so good at life and learning, and so helpful and don’t seem to ever fight. Her home is immaculate and there are no screens to be seen and there’s lovely reading nooks in every corner and everyone works in this glorious peaceful environment before they come together to do the housework and tend to the farm. Then her youngest cooks dinner with homegrown meat and veggies and it’s a gloriously wonderful life.

Now obviously I know all about highlight reels and people only posting the good things and all that, I’m seasoned enough in social media not to be naive and I have certainly posted my fair share of rose coloured pictures. But I also know, from the years following her, that they are actually genuinely crushing it at this life I am aspiring to, and after encountering her in other homeschool circles I follow, I know she is the real deal. But instead of following her to feel inspired and motivated, every single post I see started making me feel awful – like an inadequate failure with a messy house, a weedy veggie garden and kids who can’t get through 10 minutes of ‘cleaning up’ without making each other cry. I know the heart behind her account is not to make anyone feel like this, she is just sharing her days, and it’s actually my own personal struggles, insecurities, lack of self belief, little space and sleep and time that make me feel like this.

BUT the revelation was this – I don’t actually have to keep following her. And that is more than ok. It may be obvious, but apparently it wasn’t all that obvious to me, that I can make the choice to simply press ‘unfollow’ and remove that temptation for comparison and feeling awful about my life. I have the utmost respect for this mom, I am in awe of how well she does life, I would love to meet her one day to just be able to tell her how incredible I think she is. But my heart and my mental well being and my children do not need me obsessing over how well other people in different hemispheres, with different environments and different circumstances are coping, at the expense of me feeling like I’m failing because I don’t seem to be doing any of it as well as she is.

I’ve unfollowed lots of people in the past for various reasons but I hadn’t ever unfollowed anyone for these reasons. I felt guilty, like I was judging her. But that was not the heart behind it. And I promise you, unfollowing that account was so releasing for me. And I went on to unfollow a few more. Not because there is anything wrong with these people, they are incredible, and I am in awe of them, but I do not need to spend time watching their lives every day wishing my home and my schooling and my laundry and my hobbies and my bookshelf looked like theirs. Instead I can pour that focus and energy into making our lives the best they can be.

My kids are beyond perfect and I know I am the perfect mom for them, as much as I tend to doubt it a lot of the time. And they may never learn the way some other person’s kids on the other side of the plant learn, and that’s more than ok. And my house may never ever be spotless and that’s more than ok. And my veggie garden might need some major miracles, and I may have 7 piles of clean washing to sort out, and things may not be Instaperfect and that is so much more than ok. Because this is my life and it’s spectacular in it’s imperfection and I actually don’t need to compare it to anyone.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is, if there is someone you are following and you find yourself feeling really down about yourself or your life or your job or your body or your anything after you have seen their posts then why don’t you try to simply press ‘unfollow’ and focus on the real right in front of you instead of the best parts of someone else’s reel, someone you may not even know… or maybe even someone you do.

Maybe it’s ok to just unfollow. And live your own best life.

She sat on her bed, tears on her cheeks. She felt like a failure. Again. She was exhausted. Another day had come and gone. Full of elaborate stories and never ending questions, constant bickering and whinging, and the way they always needed all of the things. Harsh words, long tantrums and short tempers. Overreactions. Noise and chaos. Feeling like she wasn’t enough.

She loved them with all her heart. She wouldn’t change it for the world, this life she chose. Or did it choose her? Sometimes though, it was just so hard. But she knew time was fleeting. One day they would leave her and go off on their own adventures. Spread their wings and fly while she watched on from a big old empty nest. She spent so many nights beating herself up over too many “not nows” and regretting all the times she said she was too busy, all those frustrated moments of “please can you just leave me alone so I can finish this!” She knew that whatever ‘this’ was, it definitely wasn’t worth their heart; it wasn’t worth the minutes with them that she would never get back. She wished she could remember that, when stuff thrown all over the floor, and never ending washing and dirty dishes and dirty nappies and the need to repeat herself fifty thousand times made her forget. 

Every day she forgot. 

She stared out the window at the sky. It was full of stars. They looked like little polka dots of grace in the dark.

Everything seemed right out there. The moon, the stars, the frogs and crickets, that owl off in the distance somewhere. They all knew how to do it right. She wished she could do it right. She wished she could capture the way they could simply be, the way they shone, the way they sang and danced together without a care in the world.

The way they made each other better. 

She smiled as she wiped her tears. She snuck into their room. Gently she nudged their shoulders, rousing them from their dreams. She was met with grumbles from the middle one. She bundled them up in an odd assortment of warmth and she looked at them, standing there in front of her like a little band of half asleep lost boys.

Tears were in her eyes… again. 

Maybe there really was grace for tomorrow. 

“Where we going, Mama?” the little one asked. 

She picked her up and kissed her little face. It was full of freckles. They looked like little polka dots of hope in the dark. 

“We’re going to catch the moon.”

Dear Fellow Preggy Mama,

How are you? Are you doing ok?

In my last post I was talking about how hard the first 2 trimesters of this pregnancy had been, with the fires and everything.. I was so full of hope for an easy third trimester.. ha! And then along came one healthy dose of gestational diabetes and a scare at a routine ultrasound which led to the 4 longest weeks of my entire life (but today we were told he is 100% healthy – Thank You Jesus!)

Oh and also a global pandemic.

We are doing well here folks! My Mom was saying today how this kid has already lived so much life and he’s not even born yet..

So no, this trimester along with the rest of my pregnancy has not exactly been how I envisioned it.. and I’m sure it’s absolutely not how you envisioned yours either. No one expects what should be one of the happiest times of your life to be marred by a world half shut down and half gone mad. If you’re anything like me, the roller coaster of emotions you may feel right now is incredibly real and incredibly intense..

On one hand you are so beyond excited to be bringing another life into the world and you cannot wait to kiss that little face.. On the other hand you’re absolutely terrified to bring another life into this world and you’re wondering if you even can kiss his face..

Part of you is embracing the unexpected down time to relax before baby (and by relax I obviously mean frantically clean and cull every inch of the home you can no longer leave), and the other half of you wishes you could just go out and buy all the pretty things you’ve wanted to buy for so long, instead of filling endless virtual carts online and hardly purchasing a thing because its just not the same.

You are so grateful, beyond grateful, to be pregnant and carrying life within you, no matter what the current climate is because you know there are countless women who would give anything to simply be pregnant at all..

And yet, it is so hard to always find the joy because it’s just not supposed to be like this – you’re not supposed to have to speak to the lady at the ultrasound place through a mask and a screen from 2 metres away.. you’re not supposed to rush in and out of every antenatal appointment nervous to even breathe the hospital air.. you’re not supposed to have to tell your other kids they can’t come meet their little brother the day he is born.. your baby’s grandparents and great grandparents are not supposed to have to see him for the first time through a screen.. And you’re definitely not supposed to be afraid that they will tell you your partner can’t be there when you’re in labour..

Regardless of how grateful and blessed and happy you are to be having baby, doing it in the world we find ourselves in right now is really flippin’ scary and really flippin’ hard..

And you may feel really guilty for feeling all these things, I know I do..

But I just wanted to tell you that it’s ok.. it’s ok to grieve for the way it should have been while still doing your best to embrace the way that it is. It’s ok to cry about a cancelled baby shower or your parent’s cancelled flights. It’s ok to be really really frustrated that you can’t even go grocery shopping, or to be wondering how you will cope when baby arrives and no one can come and help you fold the washing and clean the kitchen.. It’s ok to wish your mom could put her hand on your belly and feel your baby kick instead of just having to be satisfied with bathroom bump selfies from across the country, or across the world.. It’s ok to be scared and frustrated and disappointed and overwhelmed. You’re not alone.

But girls, we are going to get through this, and we are going to have our beautiful babies, and they’re going to be perfect and we are going to finish strong.. This virus will end.. the madness will cease, and life will resume eventually… And when it does we will look back on this season with the utmost pride because we gave birth in truly crazy circumstances, and we went through something very few people have..

Times are real tough right now girls, it’s true .. but guess what – so are we, and we can do this.

So hang in there.. you’re doing better than you think you are,

Love, Ferne

I haven’t written anything for a long time. The reason for this initially was a bit of discouragement and self doubt, coupled with a rather unhealthy love hate relationship with my good friend Netflix and my buddy Stan. But then life went a little nuts and I don’t think I would have been able to write even if I had wanted to. I feel like my mind is still playing catch up with the last 6 months.

I am 26 (give or take) weeks pregnant with baby number 5. Madness? Yes. The gap between Evie and this baby is a whole year longer than between all the other kids because truth be told we just didn’t know whether or not it was the right thing to do. So many variables, so many unknowns.. health, finances, life, the other kids, my sanity, the fact that we live in a glorified shoebox.. but then a friend gave me the best piece of advice I have maybe ever received.. she said “Ferne, you will never ever regret having another baby, but 2, 5, 10 years down the line you may just regret not having it” and that kind of made up our minds.. that and a whoooole lot of trusting Jesus in ways we never have before. At the start I said I was going to treasure every moment of this pregnancy knowing it will most likely be my last… I said I wanted it to go slowly and I wanted to feel and remember and savour every moment of it. Unfortunately that hasn’t really been the case, not because there is anything wrong with me or the baby, I thank Jesus every day that I am carrying a beautiful healthy strong boy and that in 14 weeks he will be in my arms, and I thank Jesus every day that the rest of the kids and Hoody are safe and healthy and doing really well.. but life the last few months has been hectic..

In October last year, a small bush fire started 40 odd km away from us, when a bolt of  lightning struck a tree. Sounds so insignificant hey. Fast forward a couple of months, yes months, and that fire was blazing through 512,000 hectares of Aussie bush. I can’t say this little Irish girl ever imagined her daily existence to be centred around constantly checking a Fires Near Me app… or that I ever imagined loading up all of our valuables and precious things into the car and not unloading them for more than 6 weeks. If you had told me I would be evacuated from home the week before Christmas, and would sit in my sisters house and watch my town burning on tv, not knowing what we would go back to and if we would still have a home, I probably would have told you I wasn’t cut out for that. But when you’re living in it, it’s amazing the strength you find inside, the ability to deal with it, to carry on, to cope so much better in the moment than you even cope with it in the aftermath looking back. It surprised me last time too, when I was 34 weeks pregnant with Lydia and we would wake up in the morning and the first thing we’d do was check to see if we still had a home. Its amazing how we are so much stronger than we think we are..

Our reality is that we were incredibly lucky, if that’s the right word to use… we may have had to drive through kms of burnt out bush to get home 3 weeks after leaving, but we still had a home to get to. Hundreds of people weren’t so fortunate. Its funny how you can feel so grateful and so guilty at the same time.

These fires are out now. Because when it rains it pours. And boy did it pour… and only weeks after we drove over the bridge in one direction to get away from the fires, we were rushing to cross it in the other direction so we could get home before the river flooded. And then we found ourselves a little bit trapped, again, this time at home, this time by water… what a crazy country this is. Seeing floodwaters gush through the black silhouettes of burnt out trees is something I could never have quite imagined, and yet…

Hoody and I went for a drive the other day down a street in our area where so many people lost their homes.. we drove past ‘waterfalls’ that were a result of the few weeks of torrential rain, and we drove past trees brought down in recent storms, we entered the street and passed houses spared, with beautiful gardens and happy old men mowing the lawns, and then we drove past letter boxes with family names on them, announcing houses that just weren’t there. Blackened bush and tangled metal on the ground, ‘No Entry’ signs and lonesome chimney stacks. Abandoned sheds and devastation. And km after km of burnt trees, as far as the eye can see. It’s almost too much to comprehend.

But, dotted throughout the heartache and ashes, there was something beautiful to behold.. Tree Ferns. Hundreds of them. Blackened and burnt and all but destroyed. But out of the top of them, brand new leaves not just sprouting, but flourishing. And they are everywhere. Like black beacons with bright green flames, they are igniting hope and life. They took my breath away and I said out loud, “wow, there’s a message in that, a message for all of us.”

Beauty from ashes. What we assume is burnt and destroyed and dead comes back to life in spectacular fashion when the rain comes. What we have given up on, forgotten, what we have labelled too far gone or too broken, can flourish when the rain comes. New growth, new life, new hope, bright green against a backdrop of black, enhanced and exuberant because of what it has come out of, what it has overcome, what it has risen against, what it stands in spite of. Brilliant. Bold. Alive. When the rain comes.

And so the last few month have been crazy. They have made this pregnancy go so fast, and they haven’t exactly been what I had in mind. But they have changed and developed and strengthened me in a way that I couldn’t have imagined, and the lessons I’ve learnt and the mental battles I’ve fought have created in me something that will help me become the person I need to be to live this life well and raise this baby, and the rest of my babies, as best I can.

And oh what stories we can tell him now, of how he was forged in the fire and of how he flourished in the rain.

I had this friend when I was in high school. He was reliable, steadfast, not scared to tell me the hard truths. One day, 2003, our 15/16 year old selves were chatting on msn messenger, because those were truly the good old days, and out of the blue he said something to me that has impacted my whole life..

“Don’t change yourself, Ferne, you’re nobodies shadow.”

I think I just brushed it off at the time, sent him an awkward smiley face or something and changed the subject. I failed then to realise the importance those words would have on my life..

Ferne circa 2003. Who was I? Gosh I don’t even know. We moved around a lot growing up, never staying put more than a few years at a time. While a part of me loved the adventure of life, a part of me was tired of always being the new kid, the one with the messed up accent, the one who never quite fit in.

Introverted by nature, its hard finding your place in the world when your world is always changing. That, coupled with some pretty intense bullying in my early teens, meant I became a master chameleon, really good at changing to fit in with the environment around me. Losing myself a bit more every time the colours shifted.

I was also really good at believing that I was amazingly mediocre at most things. I was ok at playing basketball and alright at drama, my grades were alright, my art was ok, I could scrape by in French (when I wasn’t hiding in my moms office during that class.. yea.. she hated French too) and more or less hold my own in history and biology. But don’t ask about me about maths, chemistry, music, boys, small talk, being on a stage, general conversation.. utterly hopeless in those departments!

I thought I was just an ok friend, a pretty good daughter, an alright sister, most of the time.  I believed there was no one area of life that I really stood out in, excelled in, was good enough in. And most of the time I was content for this to be the case. I liked being a bit invisible, a bit in the shadows, a bit of a wallflower. It was easier when friends hadn’t ever really stuck around and goodbyes came around too quick.

By the time I got to my mid teens and my 5^th school I did have some truly wonderful friends. But I still didn’t really know how to be me. And so I morphed again to make sure I didn’t lose them. Blending in, not allowing myself to be different in any way.. I took a back seat, hiding behind their anything but mediocre-ness, content to join in on their wins so I didn’t have to try having any wins of my own and risk being reminded that I was as wanting as I truly believed I was.

But I guess this friend of mine actually saw me. He saw through the pretence and the pretend and he reminded me that I didn’t have to be an obscure, bland version of the people I was around. That is was ok to be myself, to figure out who I was, maybe to even shine. And as I sat there that day, on a gym ball in my parents bedroom, it was like I heard the heart of God through those words on the screen, giving me permission to simply.just.be.me.

And those words have come back to me so many time since that msn chat. Like when a silly boy broke my heart a couple years later, I remembered I was still enough. When my plans got flipped and I found myself on my way to Australia, terrified to start all over again, after a whole life of starting over, I remembered I just needed to be me. When I was surrounded by so many definitely not mediocre people in college, I told myself, again and again, that I was nobodies shadow. When I got married, when I had my kids, countless days that I have spent trying to figure out how to do this life well, his words have been a mantra in my mind, reminding me that being who I am is enough, no hiding, no changing, no doubting who God created me to be. No shadows, only Light.

So often we don’t realise the impact our words can have on a life. For good. For bad. I doubt his 16 year old self ever thought that what he said that day would alter so many moments in my future. I can quite honestly say I don’t think he would even remember. We lost touch and I haven’t spoken to him in well over a decade. But words remain. We can never underestimate the impact they can have on a life. For good. For bad.

So in case you don’t have a friend like him to speak random truths into your life today, I will. So listen carefully..

You, my friend, are nobodies shadow

You are more than capable, more than worthy

Do not change who you are

Do not think that you’re just some mediocre space filler

Like JLo in that silly Wedding Planner movie we all love,  you are not a poor man’s version of anyone.

Don’t waste your years trying to blend in

You are you.

And you is enough.

 

We have this plum tree in our yard. It’s a bit odd… to say the least. It has one branch that grows at a funny angle, trying desperately to reach the sun. It has a pretty obnoxious stumpy bit where another branch has failed at a similar pursuit and been cut away. The branch on the other side, well, it became a makeshift wooden trampoline for many tiny enthusiastic feet, which broke it almost all the way through.

Almost. But not quite.

Now before I go on I must explain something. We live in Bilpin. A town well known for its orchards. Beautiful trees ladened with fruit that people travel to from far and wide. Land of the Mountain Apple. Fruit trees for days. Our little deformed friend more than pales in comparison. It may not even be worth a mention.

But it is.

When spring time comes around the orchards of Bilpin are ladened with flowers. A photographers dream. God paints the trees in pink and white and yellow and green and all you see is perfect lines of beauty that would make Monet’s heart sing. You would think that, with all those beautiful specimens around He would forget about our little plum tree. It really doesn’t look like it could produce anything lovely at all.

But you would be wrong,

He doesn’t forget our tree. Come springtime He covers it in blossom, and I mean covers.. and it is so beautiful.. just as beautiful as any other tree in Bilpin, if not more so. Even the broken bit that the kids love so much is radiant with flowers. How that is even possible I don’t know. God likes to do the impossible. It’s there on its own, no orchard around, no formation in which to stand to attention, a little worse for wear, a little less than majestic.. but the bees – they love its flowers just the same. You can hear them from the house, hundreds of bees loving our tree.

And then comes summer and our tree produces the sweetest plums you will ever taste, if you are quick enough. The birds, you see, they also love our plums. They don’t see the scars on the branches or care that they don’t look quite like they’re meant to, that they’re a bit battle weary, a bit unconventional … they only care about the fruit. And despite the struggles this tree has encountered during its life, it is no less capable of doing exactly what it’s meant to do. And the birds cannot stay away. We haven’t managed to save many plums from them for years!

I think sometimes it’s easy to feel a little bit like this decrepit little plum tree. It’s easy to feel like we are invisible because maybe we are alone, that our value is somehow diminished because we don’t fit the mould. It’s easy to think that, in our raggedness, with our bruises, we will be forgotten amongst the stately and grand orchard trees, with their straight lines and their even branches. We think our broken bits and our scars and the reminders of the dead things we had to cut away will disqualify us, make us unworthy, invisible, incapable of doing what we are created to do, of producing anything of any worth at all.

But we are wrong.

He still sees us. He enables us despite our shortcomings. He gives us purpose when we feel alone, He makes us radiant with flowers, and the bees still come..

And in the summertime we too can bear fruit, regardless of what state our branches are in. Even when life has tried to break us almost all the way through.

Almost. But not quite.

Our scars will produce something beautiful, something worthy, something valuable, something perfect, if we keep reaching towards the Son.

 

Words.

There is nothing in the world like them. Words are a gift. Words are a weapon. Words give meaning to life. Words take life away. They are ethereal in their ability to uplift. They are heavy with the weight of what they mean.

Life. Death. In the power of the tongue.

For as long as I can remember I have been in love with words. Stories and lyrics and poetry and prose. Reading them, writing them, sticking them on my walls, covering my books in them. Other peoples fantastic ability to craft sentences that you feel in your soul. My own words trying to give meaning to what’s in mine.

Reading works by literary geniuses such as Emily Dickinson and Charles Dickens, Robert Frost and the Bronte sisters, Jane Austen and Wilkie Collins.. escaping to the worlds of J R R Tolkien, and C S Lewis.. marvelling at the chaotic universe of George R R Martin and my life being forever changed by Markus Zusak and his book thief.. to name a few..

I wish I could sit down with each of them and thank them for being my friends.

I have always wanted to write. I remember scribbles on a page when I was just a little girl.. poems and songs, essays and stories that my english teacher was foolish enough to commend. Maybe one day I will write a novel.. what a dream that would be.

But for now I will write about the things I know. The things I see. The things I’ve experienced. The children I’ve been blessed with. The role of ‘mother’ and ‘wife’ that I’m still trying to figure out. The God I serve and the people I love.

I know there are many others.. other people writing similar things. But not the same things. If the words I write can impact just one person, one person who may not read someone else’s words but who happens upon mine, well then, job well done. I don’t pretend to have all (or any) of the answers.. to know how to do this.. to have anything at all worthwhile to say. But I do have a passion and a heart to help people feel like they’re maybe not alone, to encourage and to uplift.. to write things that matter.. even just to one person.. even just to me.

And so I am going to try..

Welcome to my blog.

Life is full of light and shade, mountains and valleys, blessing and heartache, love and pain.. but you can’t have the blossom without the rain..