Journal

Honouring your stories, revealing God’s grace, releasing hope…

Called to be a Light Bearer – Mary’s Story

Called to be a Light Bearer – Mary’s Story

When I was 10 years old, my sisters and I were sent to live with my grandfather and his second wife, Nanna, for a couple of months, whilst my mother was in hospital. Nanna was the librarian at the local Catholic Primary School and so we became students there. Apart from the normal adjustments involved in changing schools, the move also meant that, for the first time, we were exposed to Roman Catholicism. This proved …

Grace – More than Enough!

Grace – More than Enough!

For the past few weeks I have been in the grip of an awful virus that sucked every last bit of energy out of me. I cannot remember feeling so sick, in a very long time. No matter how hard I willed myself to get out of bed and do something productive I just couldn’t do it. Lists went unchecked, boxes were not ticked, plans were cancelled, and goals were not kicked! This is the …

It’s Time to Heal - Brianna’s Story

It’s Time to Heal – Brianna’s Story

“So, several people from church have told me you have a split personality disorder.”  I leaned closer to the passenger door of my date’s pickup truck and felt tears begin to brim in my eyes.  These were some of the first words my “date” said to me on the way to the restaurant.   I felt ashamed, confused and misunderstood.  Not only was the accusation untrue, it was a defamation of character, lies that were being …

Gratitude.

You think this is just another day in your life? It’s not just another day. It’s the one day that is given to you today. It’s given to you. It’s a gift. It’s the only gift that you have right now, and the only appropriate response is gratefulness. If you do nothing else but to cultivate that response to the great gift that this unique day is, if you learn to respond as if it were the first day in your life and the very last …

Still A Church Girl – Linda’s Story

Still A Church Girl – Linda’s Story

I can still remember the excitement that I felt the first time I went to Sunday school at the local Anglican church. I was six years old and my younger sisters and I were dressed in matching pink knitted sweaters and white box-pleated skirts. No doubt, I was also wearing my black patent leather buckle shoes, as they were my only good shoes and, along with white ankle socks, were the mandatory footwear for any …