I’m on a reading spree at the moment: devotions, leadership, history, personal development, science, fiction, the Good Book- it feels good to be back. College did well to kill the love of reading that childhood did well to nurture. Continue reading
What I’m Giving Up For Lent
When the extension lead burnt out this morning so did something inside me.
Within five minutes I knew that the world could be made right again as long as I made sure that the water boiler for the tea wasn’t plugged into the same socket as the sound system next time, as long as I told each person how to hold the microphone correctly so that it wouldn’t make funny noises again, as long as I made sure that the contrast between the font and the background on the PowerPoint was high enough to read on the little projector screen, as long as each person knew exactly what to do and when, and we finished when we said we would, and nobody interrupted at any point to share some love or encouragement for the long, weary hours between now and next week.
“When everything lives up to my expectations all will be right with the world again”, I reasoned. (or at least right with my little part of the world) Continue reading
Incurable Pluviophilia
It’s the one thing I miss when I’m away from Ireland. As much as I love the sunshiny heat that soaks into your bones overseas, when I come home I can’t wait for the rain. Continue reading
The Gift of the Lament
Tonight one neuron collided with another in my brain opening up a couple of old wounds plus one or two new ones all clamouring for attention. Thankful for an empty house, I put my current favourite lament song on repeat and took some time to grieve.
As a Mercy-oriented person, worship is one place where I am free to fully unpack all of the feelings I haven’t had time to deal with and bring them to my Father in their raw, unfiltered glory. In coming undone before Him, He somehow brings all the pieces together to form a new composition.
I wonder why modern worship music shies away from laments. Continue reading
What’s the Story? Coffee at No. 115
I am no coffee snob. I don’t turn my nose up at instant coffee. Arguments over Starbucks versus Costa versus hipster little one-off shops are lost on me. Don’t get me wrong- I like a gorgeous freshly-ground coffee but more than that I love a good story.
It is the story of my friend sourcing farmers in her homeland to import coffee to London and start her own cafe in Fulham that inspires me to support her venture.
It is the story of a similar project in Ethiopia that produces 500g bags of coffee (beans/ground) for €20 here- with €16 of that €20 staying in Ethiopia- that intrigues me (my brother’s friend bought a bag for each of his family members for Christmas this year).
It is the friendships I get to build with the staff of the coffee shop around the corner from our church that sees me ordering there early on a Sunday morning.
Today, I got to be part of another story when my Mum brought me to 115 Georges Street Lower, Dun Laoghaire. Continue reading
A Truck Drove into a Bunch of People in Berlin and I Don’t Really Know What to Think Right Now
Last night I hung on live news reports about a truck driving into a Christmas market in Berlin and waited for my Berlin friends to mark themselves as “safe” on Facebook. Today, even with assurances of my friends’ well-being, I went grocery shopping but forgot to take my wallet with me. Continue reading
Let Me Have It
You explode with questions,
Spitting and swarming,
Seeking satisfaction-
But answers don’t soothe,
Don’t touch the depths.
They make them sting,
Salt on skin torn straight
Through to shredded heart:
My darling, you’re bleeding out,
I can see.
I can see. You look at me,
Me, the face of all that’s wrong. Continue reading
Let Me Lend You My Roar
The door swung open. I didn’t even realise that I’d found the key.
She sidled up to me at the end of the day and told me how much it had meant to her, that little text message with a scripture verse and a “you can do all the things this week!”
All the weeks I’d been trying to find a connection point with her and in the end it was a tiny, almost throwaway act that forged it. It unlocked her. It unlocked her group of friends, who seemed impenetrable from the outside. Continue reading
The Gift of Irritation
I love comfort. Give me a blanket and a cup of tea and I’ll delight in daydreams for hours. This love of comfort often finds me hoarding good intentions without giving them wings and releasing them. In other words, I get cases of chronic laziness.
Because of this I dislike irritation. Irritation… well… irritation irritates! It’s like the person I cross the road to avoid. In recent months, however, I’ve started to view it as a friend. Continue reading
Better Together
This time last year I impulse-bought a violin. Inspired by a secondary school chamber orchestra and a desire for distraction, I embarked on becoming a violin maestro. Let me clue you in right now. Becoming a violin maestro is hard, really hard.
I plunged through thirty minutes of practice per day for a few months- scales, studies, trad pieces-
and then I hit the wall.
The really unimpressive part? I didn’t hit it at full force with a great big wallop. More like I slowly slid to the ground and then nudged myself inch by inch until the wall was near enough to touch with my aching hand if I stretched my shoulder the right way.
I needed help.
Singing Songs of Hope 
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