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Gentle Jesus, meek and mild. NOT.


This started out as an Instagram post and then turned into an essay so I thought… let me come over here to this sad piece of internet and scribble this down while it is still fresh in my mind. If there’s anyone who still comes to this spot, hello! This blog has recently seen less love than a homeless puppy on the side of the road but that’s a post for another day.

So back to the topic.

A few weeks back, Marcia gave me this book by Francis Chan. It’s called Crazy Love – Overwhelmed by a Relentless God. Before I go any further, if you are a Believer you need to read this book. PLEASE READ THIS BOOK. Prior to that, I had mentioned to my Bible reading whatsapp group that I had done one of those Bible studies on the app on my phone by this dude Francis Chan and his thinking was so radical that I HAD to read this book. And by some divine intervention, Marcia was like “oh, I have that book and I’ll give it to you.” Score. So I read the book. Mind.Blown. Plain and simple truths that I think we gloss over once the exuberance of being saved dies down. Mind.Blown. I’ve read it twice in two weeks. That good.

?

Right.

Then our church, Rivers, released a new song a few weeks back. It’s called Wild Love. Get it on iTunes here please. This song speaks of the WILD love God has for us. It’s amazing and awesome and all the other synonyms that mean amazing and awesome. I swear.

Words and imagery speak to me. I am a words person. It’s very rare that words like Crazy / Wild / Radical are mentioned in the same sentence as God / Jesus, right? But the last couple of weeks that’s all I’ve been picturing; this crazy, wild love that God has for me.

Now if you know me, you’ll know I am crazy and wild. I’m all those things you DON’T learn at finishing school. That’s unapologetically me. But I’ve been pondering on how crazy and wild Jesus was / is. This is the same man who stormed into the temple, upturned tables and threw people out because they were dishonouring God’s house. This is the man who always had a quick quip for his 12 disciples who were sooooo slow to get what He was saying some times. The man who offended many because of the raw and honest truth He spoke. That baby in the manager, meek and mild, is no more. He is the Lion of the tribe Judah. He is the Hunter not the hunted. He is all conquering, all powerful, the Creator and King of the entire universe and all that is within it. Demons tremble at the sound of His name. While sin and troubles exist in this world for everyone, He has overcome the world. He is a warrior who will not hesitate to crush those things which aim to harm you. He is Almighty God. The angels and saints are roaring shouts of praise to Him all day, err’day.  And He loves me with a wild and crazy love that I cannot even comprehend. And while God is to be revered and is the Holy of Holies and I don’t EVER want to lose sight of his magnificence, there’s this part of Him that makes my tummy flip… the part that says I get my crazy, wild side from my Daddy. Who loves me fiercely, wildly and crazily.  Don’t get it twisted, He ain’t the meek and mild baby in the manger no more, He would DIE for me. In fact, HE DID. And when you seriously consider this, how can you NOT be radical about this radical man? I grew up in a very conservative faith community, and that’s cool, I believe that there’s space in Heaven for crazy and normal saints, ha! But I’m so glad that God fashioned us all differently. I’m never going to be meek and mild, soft and gentle, calm and angelic (much to my earthly father’s annoyance!). And for years, I thought this was how we Christians needed to be. But the more I look to Jesus, the more convinced I am that in all His absolute glory, in His sinless human form, Him and I could have had lots in common.

So if you’re feeling like a square peg in a round hole, or if you’re scared to take the jump into being saved because you’re scared that you will have to undergo an identity change, please can I encourage you that God says come as you are… He loves you as crazy, wild and radical as you may be. And even when He does a transforming work in you (and He will), He will use you as you are, to bring Him glory. After all, HE created you, He KNEW you before you were even born, silly! He knew I was going to be all sorts of crazy and yet He still chose to bring me into being in my mother’s womb. I think that settles it… God loves a bit of crazy in the kingdom. I want to be crazy for Him, just as He is crazy for me.

It’s getting hot in here…


…so take off all your clothes.

No, please don’t.

But every time someone says “It’s getting hot in here,” you can rest assured I will finish off that sentence with that Nelly jam. Oh, I didn’t tell you? I am that person who will finish off your sentences with an appropriate song lyric.

lyrics

I digress.

Wow Joburg, you came out blazing this week. Now those who know me know that I love the heat. It took me by surprise though. We skipped straight over Spring this year and dived into Summer, right? Talking about diving… for the first time since we moved house, I admitted that I miss one thing about our old house. THE POOL. Man, we loved that pool and we used it a lot. A sprinkler and a plastic splash pool just do not cut it. The husband took the kids to the pool at the gym but what fun is that when you can’t dive, do cannon balls and back flips? Borrrrring. So to my friends with benefits (ie: a swimming pool), we going to be increasing our visits this season. You don’t even have to be there, just leave the back gate open and a coupla lilos and a cooler box full of goodies.

A while back when I was training for the Midmar Mile and trying to find an Olympic sized swimming pool, we stumbled across one in Linden. But it was closed so we couldn’t take a good look. The grounds looked awesome though, sort of the place one could have a picnic at. Has anyone been there? Or do you know of any other cool swimming spots in Jozi? Do not say Sun City.  I love Sun City, I do. But it’s not somewhere I’m going to drive to every weekend or post work in the evenings, you know.

So Summer time means natural hair. Usually in the colder months, I blow dry our hair once a week. Hannah’s hair is really thick and it takes long to dry, so I leave it wet for as short a time as possible when it’s cold. But during the Summer months, I let her hang loose. I am still on the eternal quest to find what products work on Coloured hair. And by that I mean the ethnic group, not hair that has been dyed. Just saying. Having tried everything from the top end to the bottom end of the market, I still cannot say that I have found the magic elixir that will make curly haired Coloured girls squeeeee.  No I don’t want a Brazillian, I don’t want to tame our hair at all, we LOVE big hair, people. But I want something that defines curls, nourishes your hair and doesn’t require dollops of conditioner, mousse, gel and body lotion (oh yeh, guilty) and that has actually been formulated for my kind of hair. That’s not so hard, right? Anyway, while reading Melinda’s blog, I came across a post where she reviewed products from ThePerfectHair. I hopped straight onto that website and just knew I had to try this range when words like:

Mixed Chicks / #bringbackmyhairline / As I am Naturally

… jumped out at me. The funny thing is when I went onto the site, I realised I knew the owner! We’re from the same hood in Durban, she went to school with my sister for goodness sake! Of course I dropped Taryn an email immediately and we got chatting and today I am getting my goods. Watch this space for a review, and in the mean time if you’ve got curly hair issues, check out her website.

Our ‘fros..

han fro

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I am enjoying the longer days, lighter meals and the fewer clothes. And ice cream. we eat ice cream almost every second day in Summer. And the kids are still at an age where a R3 cone from KFC is a huge treat, so it works out well. I did shave my legs last week after a winter-long hiatus from the blade. I just don’t understand why humans were not made like dogs or bears who naturally shed hair after Winter. It was not pretty.

Roll on Summer, pretty toes and antiperspirant deodorant.

The little toys that aren’t.


I often get emails from people asking me to promote stuff on the blog, or to plug some event, or to ask for help in raising awareness for a specific initiative. Most times I’m just too much of an unreliable blogger to follow through (really I need to put on my big girl blogger panties and take these thing more seriously), and other times it really isn’t a cause I’m interested in.

But sometimes, you come across a cause worth championing and this is one of them. Stuff that makes your heart break. Do you know there are children out there who don’t have toys? Children who re-purpose what we would consider junk, into toys, because they have nothing else. Makeshift robots, dolls, cars, jewellery – these kids make these little toys that aren’t, from scraps. jewel1

jewel 2

car 2

car 1

Now let’s just think about our own children for a minute, shall we. Picture your home in your mind. Picture the toys laying in every conceivable corner. Picture the little cars lined up on the bath tub. Picture the naked Barbie dolls with bad hair. Picture the dozens and dozens of forgotten loom bands laying at the bottom of a toy chest. Picture the rows of books your children probably only read three or four of. Picture the puzzles with missing pieces, the art sets, the balls, the Stikeez collection your kid whined over for weeks.

Now. Picture your home without any of those things.

Sad, isn’t it? It’s wrong and unjust that this is the reality for some children.

The Topsy Foundation is trying to right that wrong. Through a partnership with Spree and Your Parenting, these makeshift toys are being sold “virtually” as real toys. Your full donation goes straight to Topsy to stock their toy library. And guys, they aren’t asking for hundreds of Rands. Please click through to this link and go and buy your virtual toy from as little as R20.

Topsy has partnered with twenty three day care centres in the Mpumalanga area, as well as a centre for physically disabled kids. With the help of your donation, these kids are getting access to specialised educational toys and better trained teachers.

order

See, I just bought my first virtual toy. My next step will be to let my children buy their own “virtual toys” – I think this is an awesome opener for teaching your kids a valuable life lesson right here.

I love that quote from Mother Theresa where she speaks of “not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.” Will you do this small thing with me, which will change the lives of many? I dare you.

Tact. Full Disclosure.


I’ve had it on my heart to write about this for a while, but at the risk of putting myself out there or offending someone, I’ve kinda put it off. But now I think it’s time for full disclosure.

I’m a talk-now-think-later sort of person. I can run off at the mouth and very often later regret what I divulged. I’m impulsive and I generally say what I think. I don’t think this is cool. I don’t think it’s a great quality to possess. In fact, I think it’s quite off putting.

Don’t get me wrong. I am all for speaking your mind and “putting people in their place” when the situation calls for it. I’m all for honesty upfront and cards on the table and that bravado that let’s you call out bull dust as soon as you see it.

But. Tact.

Tact.

I believe that being able to guard your thoughts, being able to think something through in your mind, even if it’s just for 3 seconds before you spit it out, being able to hold back when your mind is  screaming at you to pounce… THAT right there is an art. And it’s called tact.

There are some people who have tact down to an art. My mother is one of these people. My mother has such a way of saying things that you cannot help but listen and obey. It’s incredible. She doesn’t shout. Ever. She doesn’t use big words or frighten you into action. She just chooses her words tactfully, her words soothe over you and have the right effect on the listener. Like she could tell you that you totally suck or that your hairstyle doesn’t suit you or that you are not a very nice person, without you being offended at all. And yet you would have absolutely gotten the message. It’s amazing.

There is power in the spoken word. Often HOW we say things is much more pertinent than the actual words we use. But the words we use also have the ability to make or break the intended message.

I am so tired of running my mouth. It’s like a bad hangover, when I wake up the next morning and I regret how I said something, or why I said something. And I replay the scene over and over again in my head and I analyse how I coulda/shoudla said it better. And then you are consumed with anxiety as to how that poor person on the receiving end is feeling. You see, we’ve all been on the other side. I think we’ve all been in a situation where someone has said really hurtful things to or about you, where the person has ripped your heart to shreds with the words spoken to or against you. Sometimes it’s in the heat of an argument and we think it’s OK, but long after the argument is over, the words remain. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be the crass, ballsy, vitriol-spewing person that I know I can be.

And yes, there is a big difference between being loud, fun loving and the life of the party versus the person who always wants to be right, who’s opinion MUST be heard and who says whatever they feel with no holds barred. You see, I used to think I was the former, but often that line is blurred with the latter. And sometimes I don’t even know who I am. I do.not.want.to.be.the.latter.

So I’ve been praying about tact; believe me it’s a spiritual thing. I know this because I have tried/ I BEEN trying to work on it and still I can’t help but POUNCE. If I was an animal, I’d be Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh: the ultimate POUNCER. Also, people in my circle have been dealing with word issues.. words said out of context / words that hurt / words WOrds WORDS that didn’t even NEED to be said but now it’s too late and those words are out there. I believe the world would be a better place if we all just developed a bit of tact. If the world didn’t view tact as a weakness, I think we’d be onto something. Because that’s what the world thinks, if you hold your tongue, if you allow other people to have their piece while you silently observe… you’re weak. And that could not be further from the truth.There is true strength, beauty and grace in saying what you have to say so that it does not demean, demerit or destruct the next person.  And it takes bravery to say what you have to say while keeping the hearer’s feelings paramount. Be brave.

It’s a journey of self discovery, I guess.

A truly wise person uses few words; a person with understanding is even-tempered. Even fools are thought wise when they keep silent; with their mouths shut, they seem intelligent. Proverbs 17: 27-28

This is my jam. And it says succinctly, what I’ve been trying to say in 835 words.

 

 

My darling, you are five.


I have said this before, and I stand by my word, FIVE is the absolute best age. Five is the age where your kid is old enough to wipe his/her own bum but young enough that rocking out with your mother to hits of the 80s in the living room is not awkward at all. It is also the age of awareness. The Wonder Year. The year when you find yourself moving from the extreme end of the childhood spectrum (tantrums, meltdowns, not being able to express yourself without losing your mind) into a more settled peaceful middle where you can talk nicely, reason perfectly and negotiate like a good salesman. Our five year old milestones were absolutely the best  – the losing of teeth, the growing of molars, learning to  read, going to big school. Experiencing this with a little person who is fully aware of what they are doing and how awesome it is, was a wonder for me, more than it was for him I think.  It was at five years old that my first born toyed with the idea that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy possibly-maybe weren’t real. But it was also the year where he was young enough to still choose the magic and believe they were real. I am sure that will change at six and the idea of the Easter Bunny will be poo-poo’d on.

Five Years Old was the bomb.

And now my darling second born, you are five…

The thing with you, Hannah, is that you are a contradiction of the highest degree. To quote Forest, you’re like a box of chocolates… I never know what I’m going to get. You have successfully changed the game on me at least 50656234 times since the day you were born. The minute I think I have you pinned down, you do that game-changer thing. I love it. I love you. I love your spunk, I love how you can change your mind a million times and still be as chilled about your 15th outfit change in as many minutes while the rest of us are losing our minds waiting in the car for you to get ready (can you imagine when you’re 16?) You are not bothered by life. When someone doesn’t want to be your friend, you move onto the next little girl or boy until you find someone who wants to play with you. When someone is being mean, YOU TELL THEM. Guuuurl, I just love how you TELL people where to get off. Very nicely, of course. When you don’t like what’s for supper, you make it quite clear that you do not like to see onions or mustard seeds in your food (even though you still eat it, because I said so, because I am still the boss).

But here’s the contradiction. For as bossy-boots-I-don’t-care as you are, you’re as soft and squishy and emotional as only a little girl can be. You never fail to tell us how much you love us, unprompted, all the time. You say it so often that sometimes I hear myself saying it back without even registering and then I feel sort of bad. You end everything with “so much.” I love you SO MUCH. I miss you SO MUCH. I’m going to love this movie SO MUCH. I’m going to love this ice cream that you bought me SO MUCH. I think SO MUCH is your favourite line.

You’re so smart but you never use it to your advantage. I find this so weird because I want EVERYONE to know how WONDERFUL I am at EVERYTHING, ALL.THE.TIME. I love people to tell me how amazing I am. It drives your Dad crazy.. this constant need for approval that I have. But you aren’t like that. Like the day you learned to tie your laces when you were only three, you didn’t even tell us. One day we just kind of noticed and you were like “yeh, I’ve been doing this for like ages, guys.” Like the time we discovered you could write your name, you could count in 2s, 5s and 10s backwards and forwards up to 100, you knew the words to popular music and we only realised it when we heard you singing in the shower one day. All these things, we just discovered by mistake. It’s almost like you are so self assured, that you don’t need anyone else to stroke your ego. I so admire this about you, baby girl.

You are a marvel to me. I love you deeply. You teach me something new about yourself everyday. But more than that, you teach me something new about MYself everyday. From my personal experience, mothering a boy was really simple. It’s only now at 6 that I’d say mothering a boy is becoming more challenging. But mothering Liam has been mostly easy.. he eats, sleeps, poops, keeps us laughing, and doesn’t really get emotional about too much. I LOVE how simple Liam is. But you my darling, you’re like a closed rose bud. Every petal that opens reveals another layer to the extraordinary stuff you have inside of you. We’ve just discovered why you don’t particularly like to share. You’re a germaphobe! I didn’t know! But you do not like to share a bottle (even with your own mother who bore you in her womb for 38 weeks), you do not like to put your fingers into a chip packet which does not belong to you, you do not like to use the same medicine teaspoon that your brother has licked off already. Even someone asking for a lick of your ice cream cone is enough to make you hyperventilate. Until one day you very nicely explained to the family that all these things cause germs to spread and please can we stop nagging you about it. This was duly noted. My sweetheart!

So we gave you a little shindig at home to celebrate your birthday. You wanted a Frozen party but you did NOT want to be a princess, you just wanted to wear shorts. In fact, you wanted to be Prince Hans, but I talked you out of that. You had a lovely time with those closest to you. Your granny, aunt, uncle and cousins from KZN even came along to celebrate you.

I love you, Han. You fill a gap in my heart that nobody else can. From now until eternity. xx

photos by the lovely Marcia and Karina 

IMG_2573IMG_2580IMG_2585Hannah turns 5-008 Hannah turns 5-011 Hannah turns 5-015 Hannah turns 5-019 Hannah turns 5-021 Hannah turns 5-024 Hannah turns 5-041 Hannah turns 5-044 Hannah turns 5-045 IMG_2567 IMG_2586 IMG_2590
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My son is 6.


This post is almost a month overdue! As is tradition in these parts, it’s time for the annual birthday post where I get soft and gooey and say all the wonderful things about my wonderful child. If you don’t want to hear about how I have bred an angel of a genius of a most precious human boy, you should look away now.S7300530

Dear Liam

How did we get here? You’re six. I am in disbelief at how the years have smudged and blended into a mass of beautiful memories far too quickly. I remember your born day as if it was yesterday. I remember you as a boisterous toddler who didn’t sleep. Ever. I remember you as a smart pre-schooler who smashed through your milestones, like tying your shoe laces, with ease – yes, those things aren’t important but they are important to you, and me. I can’t believe that you can read and write,  I can’t believe that I can phone home and ask you to take stuff out of the freezer for dinner. That you can go into the corner store and buy bread and milk when we need it. You are a boy.

liam 1
Those hands. Those are big boy hands. This makes me both happy and sad.

Six years old is a big deal. You’re in big school, you make your own sandwich if you’re hungry, you make your own bed, you clean your own room, you bath yourself from beginning to end, except for the bit where I rub lotion on your back because you can’t reach – 6 year old arms are still rather short.You are my right hand man and I’d be lost without you. Thank you for holding the door for me, thank you for putting the kettle on for me, thank you for emptying the dishwasher – all without me asking you to.

You and I have become allies, and it feels good to always have someone on my side. I hope you know that I am always on your side, cheering you on, supporting you and assuring you of my undying affection. You are my favourite boy, sometimes when I look at you, I still can’t believe that you are mine, that I had a hand in your creation. You are perfectly and wonderfully made, the fingerprints of God are all over your perfection.

Even when the pressures of motherhood engulf me, there’s never a moment when I wish you were not mine.

liam 5

So what did you do for your 6th birthday?

Since you were little, I’ve baked your birthday cakes (except for that one year when we ordered an ice cream cake) and this year was no different. It’s a labour of love I plan to keep up for as long as you will let me. This year’s cake was your best, although you tell me that every year. You enjoyed the day with some of your little friends and the following day we went out for your obligatory Spur birthday lunch. On your actual birthday which fell on a  Monday, you marched proudly into school carrying your two dozen cupcakes. You were the centre of the birthday ring and the whole class drew you something special and your teacher made it into your birthday book – what a treasure! You loved all your gifts and you shared so graciously with your sister – good boy!

liam 6
Photo cred: the lovely Marcia from http://www.the123blog.com

Happy birthday my little love, as my own mother says to me, I’ll love you until the Lord takes me home.

 I’ll end with a quote from one of our favourite books, it’s the Blue Fairy talking in Pinocchio… she says:

Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish, and someday, you will be a real boy.

You’re a real boy in every sense of the word.

xxx

Mum

When you have to clean your own house…


I will start by saying I miss Zoleka. I miss having someone to clean up after me… ok, let’s be honest, she used to clean up before me, after me, over me, under me. I did no cleaning whatsoever and I miss having the luxury of having someone to take care of all that *stuff.* I can’t lie and say that I can’t WAIT to get home tonight so I can clean up the supper dishes and tidy up a bit. No. Last night I washed four pots. FOUR pots. My husband did the cooking – with FOUR pots? I never use so many pots when I cook, just saying. FOUR POTS??!!

But.

I must be honest and say that it isn’t half as bad as I thought it would be. Also, can I just say how I LOVE cleaning products. My word. It’s like getting new stationery. And they smell so good. When I wasn’t cleaning, I would buy whatever would do the job at the cheapest price. Whatever Zoleka asked for, I would get with very little thought. Now, I’ve taken the art of shopping for cleaning products to the next level. And it has made such a difference. Our laundry smells like lavender fields, our toilets smell like cherry blossoms, our laminate floors smell like real oak. Ha! I’ve had to reorganise my kitchen and make a whole new cupboard for all my special cleaning goodies. And this is no slight on Zoleka at all, but it’s amazing how when you take ownership of something, how you do it right, and you can notice the difference immediately. Now that I’m in charge of the cleaning, I CLEAN. And I make sure everything is clean ALL the time. And it’s given me a weird sense of satisfaction.

I only do washing once a week on a saturday morning, and because the weather has been so glorious this has been a breeze. Let’s have this conversation again in Winter when it’s cold and damp all day long. Grrr. Hubby has already been talking about a tumble dryer and considering we’re only doing 2/3 loads a week, I don’t think it’s such a bad idea. I work through the house room by room, I start with dusting the furniture and windowsills, then I sweep and husband mops behind me. We each do a bathroom and I like to do the kitchen myself. And that’s pretty much the house cleaned for the week. On the little things that need to be done daily: I sweep the kitchen floor every night and I wash the toilets every chance I get because toilets get manky fast when you have two small children. The kids wash out the bath for me and they make their own beds everyday. Thankfully, there isn’t really time to make too much of a mess in the evenings so the house stays relatively tidy during the week. I’ve also started a wash-as-you-go policy, so that dishes don’t accumulate in the sink for the poor sorry sod who has to wash them that day. Even the kids wash their own plastic goodies every time they have a drink or meal; they have 6789 cups of water a day and that usually means 59 cups per day and they like to take out a new plate or side plate for every.single.thing they eat. I actually feel bad for the dishes they used to create for Zoleka now! Now they use one cup for the whole day and rinse it and fill it as they need to. I haven’t tried to do any ironing, I’ve left this all for the lady (A) who will be coming in from this week to help with the bigger stuff – changing the linen, wiping down cupboards and walls, etc. I just cannot bring myself to iron clothes, I can do anything but I can’t iron. Or rather, I don’t want to. Depending on how fast A works, I may get her to do ALL the cleaning once a week and then I’ll just maintain during the week… we’ll see.

I’ll tell you what cleaning my own house has done for me. As I said, it leaves me feeling very satisfied, I also love knowing where my stuff is at all times because I PUT it there and we don’t have any fights over who used what last, and where they left it. Essentially, Mr Nobody has moved homes because he doesn’t live with us anymore! I love how the kids have started taking responsibility for their belongings and how they have become real helpers around the house. Oh, I’m starting a rewards chart for chores this week. More to keep them motivated than anything else. I want to reward them for being good helpers, I want to show them that hard work pays off… but not for the normal things I EXPECT them to be doing anyway, rather for pulling together and making this work for the family.

One of the things I miss about not having full time help is the all-day-every-day delivery address. We have security in our street but I don’t exactly want them collecting all my incoming packages, that’s a bit out of their job description. Secondly, the on hand baby sitting service. Man, this is probably the most difficult thing to be without. I can’t just zip to the shop quickly to pick up something and leave the kids at home. Date nights will be few and far between, and all my extra curricular activities, read:girls breakfasts, church meetings, dinner parties, etc, will have to be carefully planned.

But so far, so good. It has been an eye opening experience… like who would have thought that dust collects SO quickly on furniture or that the kitchen bin fills at the rate of speeding light and needs to be emptied every five minutes. Or that a dirt smudge on the kitchen floor would cause me to twitch nervously. Unbelievable really. Ha.

I’m not saying this is our plan forever. But I do think this plan is sustainable for us, for the foreseeable future at least.

Who cleans their own houses? Or do you have full time or part time help? Why have you chosen to go with that particular option? 

Back on the books. For a hot minute.


Generally we enjoy a road trip. The kids are at a pleasant age where sitting in the car for 7 hours is a breeze. And thank goodness because flying anywhere for a family of four is becoming financially impossible, more so if you’re in Durban every five minutes like we are. But the best part of these long trips is that it gives me time to read. Sad state of affairs when the only time a person has to read is when they are in a moving vehicle, but hey I’ll take what I can get.

So we went down to the South Coast this weekend to spend time with my family and I found myself with approximately 14 free hours to read! Granted, I had to stop now and then to actually make conversation with the driver, to tear the kids apart when they were arguing, to answer their 565734 questions and to listen to my song when it came on the radio. But for the most, I had my head stuck in my book. Well my virtual book, thanks to e-reading devices.

I like light hearted, romantic, funny books. I don’t really read nonfiction except for the Bible and auto biographies of people I am interested in. I used to read very serious books a few years back, but I realised I could not cope. When you are still thinking about a book a week/a month / a year later and you’re freaked out by things that you read in a work of FICTION (come on, it’s not even real and you’re STILL freaked out), then you know your over analysing mind needs to stick to the light hearted stuff. I remember the very day I made this discovery about myself after reading yet another one of Lisa Gardner’s books, I just couldn’t handle it. It’s the same reason why I don’t watch horror movies.

Anyway.

I read The Fault in Our Stars, mainly because of all the hype around the book and movie; if you haven’t heard of this book/movie, you are surely living under a rock. I sort of knew the story line – who doesn’t – and I didn’t want to read it initially because I knew it would make me sad and miserable, but I read the first few pages and was sucked in. Yes, it is sad, and yes I was miserable after reading it. But it was beautiful. It was so… human, for want of a better word. It perfectly portrayed the humanness of dealing with illness, love and hope. I am still thinking about this book, but not in a freaked out sort of way. I think I will watch the movie too.

 Then I read The Pact by Jodi Picoult. Hmm. Um. I don’t know where to start. Firstly, I was gripped by the story so it must have been good, no? But perhaps it was like a car accident on the highway. No matter how much you don’t want to look, you still slow down and look. It was too intense. It freaked me out about having a teenager in the next few years, it freaked me out about jail, it freaked me out about the legal system – even though technically this was the American legal system, but still. I am still thinking about this book, VERY much in a freaked out sort of way. And I am still so heartbroken for the teenage boy in this book, as if he is real. Utterly gutted like I knew him!

 This post is not a book review, it’s more about the type of books that are good for me. I know I must not read books that are too close to home… so no books about children been kidnapped or abused or anything like that. No books about the boogey-man and murders and people being unfairly treated. Basically I need to stick to soppy romantic novels which all end with the words “and they all lived happily ever after.”

Am I sad that this would exclude almost all of the books on the New York Time’s Best Sellers list? Am I sad that I’m probably missing out on some of the best literature of our generation? Am I embarrassed that I am a sucker for a fairytale ending? Am I angry about the fact that I am a feeler and that even made up stories affect me?  Not at all! I’d much rather leave a book feeling warm and fuzzy inside, than  not sleeping at night and looking over my shoulder like a lunatic for something that isn’t even real.

So, any other warm and fuzzies out there? Which warm and fussy novelists can you recommend for a pushover like myself?

Fingerprints of God


Steven Curtis Chapman – audio below.

This song. Nothing has brought me closer to believing that there is a God, but for having my own children. When you play a part in the wonder of creation, there is no denying that we serve an Almighty, Wonderful, Amazing God! I will play this song for them over and over again. At every birthday, every special occasion and forever. I will play it for myself when they are being particularly testy and I need reminding that although they can often behave like devil spawn, they are in fact perfectly fashioned from the very hand of God and for His purposes.

I can see tears filling your eyes, and I know where they’re coming from
They’re coming from a heart that’s broken in two, by what you don’t see. The person in the mirror, doesn’t look like the magazine
Oh, but when I look at you it’s clear to me that…

I can see the fingerprints of God, when I look at you!
I can see the fingerprints of God, and I know it’s true!
You’re a masterpiece that all creation quietly applauds,
And you’re covered with the fingerprints of God!

Never has there been and never again, will there by another you. Fashioned by God’s hand and perfectly planned to be just who you are. And what He’s been creating, since the first beat of your heart. Is a living breathing priceless work of art! 

I can see the fingerprints of God, when I look at you!
I can see the fingerprints of God, and I know it’s true!
You’re a masterpiece that all creation quietly applauds,
And you’re covered with the fingerprints of God!

Just look at you!
You’re a wonder in the making, oh, and God’s not through, no
In fact, He’s just getting started…

I can see the fingerprints of God, when I look at you!
I can see the fingerprints of God, and I know it’s true!
You’re a masterpiece that all creation quietly applauds,
And you’re covered with the fingerprints of God!

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Jer 1:5 Before I created you in the womb I knew you; before you were born, I set you apart.