The thing I am discovering, through this practice of choosing one word – or rather, allowing one word to choose me – is that rarely does it turn out how I expected. That first year, when I chose Brave, I thought it was going to be about finding courage in a new country to make…
We sunk into the sofas in the lounge in the pause between evening prayers and dinner – the delicious smell already drifting down the hallway from the kitchen towards us – and watched the light fade from the sky outside, the darkness approaching steadily from the North Sea to the east. He was not who’d…
On the second night of my retreat, I freaked out. I was in a beautiful converted farm on the top of the hill, looking out over the North Sea five miles to the east. I joined in the community rhythm of Celtic prayer four times a day and sat down with them for meals together…
I’ve a cup of camomile tea next to me, the house is finally clean after we did a morning team effort to banish the dust balls and cobwebs, and I’m sitting in our rocking chair, the sound of Rasmus tapping away on this computer at the dining table. There are a bunch of thoughts waiting…
There’s this moment in the story of Jesus: it’s early in his ministry. He’s barely begun. But his cousin John, the infamous camel-hair wearing, honey-eating wilderness preacher, has pointed him out to his own disciples and said, “There. He is the one to watch.” And so it happens that Jesus looks behind him as he…
