rift
A tear in the fabric—where reality bends and the unexpected slips through.
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Shift. Grace. Arrival.
A quiet reflection for a day shifted out of rhythm—when plans move, the centre wavers, and yet presence meets you exactly where you are. In the midst of a rearranged moment, a promise settles close. Continue reading
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Clay. Cornerstone. Calm.
A quiet meditation for a day that doesn’t follow the script, on being clay, being carried, and being steadied by the One who holds everything together. Continue reading
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Dawn. Light. Rising.
A quiet reflection from the organ bench on the day when light begins to return. Continue reading
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Doorways. Darkness. Dawn.
In the deepening dark, a key turns—and hope finds its way in. Continue reading
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Hidden. Growing. Faithful.
A reflection on the quiet places where hope takes root and grace begins to grow. Continue reading
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Fire. Law. Arm.
A flame that does not consume, a covenant that honours difference, an arm stretched out to redeem. Continue reading
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Wisdom. Hidden. Tradition.
A cryptic note in the Prayer Book calendar whispers of O Sapientia. Without the story, it slips past unnoticed. Yet here, at Advent’s threshold, Wisdom speaks—ordering all things sweetly, inviting us to pause and learn the way of prudence. Continue reading
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Waiting. Practising. Proclaiming.
Caught between Advent’s hush and Christmas’ song, even the organ bench becomes a place of paradox—where longing and joy are rehearsed side by side. Continue reading
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Awkward. Risk. Grace.
A meditation on queer trust and divine presence, sparked by a motorbike ride in Pillion. Continue reading
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Autistic. Gay. Creative.
When I first began writing, I often wondered if my voice would ever find a home. As an autistic, gay writer, the world sometimes felt like it was asking me to shrink, to smooth out the edges of difference. Yet writing became the place where those edges could shine—where difference wasn’t something to hide, but… Continue reading
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Pancakes. French. Love.
This morning began with the smell of batter sizzling on the pan, golden circles stacked high and served with a smile. Tonight, the day closed with sugared French toast, crisp at the edges and soft at the centre, made with the same care. It’s not just about the food — though it’s delicious — it’s… Continue reading
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Tune. Text. Together.
A creative reversal: words become music, music becomes words. Continue reading
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Children. Presence. Church.
A toddler’s wave across the pews reminds us: children are not tomorrow’s Church, but today’s living witness. Continue reading
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Shoots. Rain. Tunics.
From stump to shoot, from rain to renewal, from tunic to dignity—God’s mercy clothes us in hope. Continue reading
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Tune. Word. Hymn.
A friend wrote a tune—words were needed. Appleton became a hymn of Creator, Christ, Spirit. Continue reading
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Ambulance. Care. Trust.
During dialysis this morning I experienced chest pain and difficulty breathing. I’ve been placed on oxygen and dialysis was stopped so I can be checked out. An ambulance has been called. I ask for your prayers and a little extra grace today. Continue reading
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Reading. Reflection. Renewal.
📖✨ One of my Christmas gifts was Doorways to the Sacred: Developing Sacramentality in Fresh Expressions of Church. I tend to open parcels as they arrive rather than wait for the big reveal, so this book has already found its way into my hands. After the recent Church of Ireland Pioneer Gathering, I’ve been reflecting… Continue reading
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Guardian. Memory. Grace.
A dragon’s gentle nudge turns duty into grace—Cary reminds us that care can be playful. Continue reading
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Tune. Text. Prayer.
Hymn-singing is never just about words on a page; it is about the marriage of text and tune, and how that union shapes the prayer of the gathered community. Yet music for hymns can be difficult. A hymnbook may suggest a tune that is unfamiliar in a particular place, and so the congregation must lean… Continue reading
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Advent, Christmas, and the Grinch
Before the carols, before the feast, there is waiting. Advent whispers patience while the world rushes ahead with Grinch-green gimmicks and glitter. What happens when we refuse to be hurried, and let Christmas arrive in its own time…? Continue reading
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