Blog Posts

The inbetweens

10/15/2019

Image: Stephen Edmonds

I’m feeling a wonderful sense of excited anticipation. I’ve been given a writer’s residency on Bruny Island, in the deep south of Tasmania. With little idea what treasure it holds in store, it’s an open door I can’t wait to step through. I’m feeling a bit like Lucy, in The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, crossing the threshold with no idea what lies beyond.

I’m packing my thermals because its bound to be chilly, and walking boots and sunscreen, along with my writer’s tools, because I’m far more creative sitting on a rock on a beach or in the bush, than chained to a desk. But most of all I want to take along abundant curiosity, a sense of adventure and an open and inquiring mind, because to a large extent this adventure will be what I make it.

But that’s true of all of life isn’t it? We can walk the safe and comfortable road and I’ve done my fair share of that over the years, or explore and discover along the verges and unmade paths beyond the horizon. That takes courage but the rewards are priceless.

Image: Luke Mitchell Cooper

I love the work of the late Peter Dombrovskis, a photographer who journeyed out into the wild areas of Tasmania where few people venture, to share with the world a snapshot of the Australia few people will ever get to see. It’s a hidden world of incredible beauty along the remote and inaccessible paths and he captured it with outstanding clarity.

One man, willing to step out into the unknown, has inspired millions of people around the world.

He challenges me to realise that we all have that capacity, to push the boundaries and explore the unknown in whatever form it presents to us. To discover what every moment holds, not living for the main events but embracing the in-betweens as filled with just as much treasure.

I’ve had occasion to fly a few times lately and realise that I have a tendency to see the time in-between take off and landing as an inconvenient prelude to getting to my destination and its a pretty accurate picture of so much of our lives. If you're like me, you have a tendency to always be thinking, planning and preparing for the next 'thing'.

But there are more in-between times in life than there are main events, at least that’s true in my life. What a lot of opportunities we waste preparing for the next occasion and missing all the gold buried in-between, in the pauses and the nondescript moments of every day.

As I head out to discover whatever lies ahead for me on this adventure, I'm taking this opportunity to have a blogging break. The last few months there has been little time in my life for creativity and I'm feeing dry and empty because creativity is a huge part of who I am, how I'm wired. This trip seems a God-given gift to restoke my passion for nature and life, and to fan the flames of inspiration. So there will be no blog for the next few weeks but I hope I come back with fresh new insights and lots of reflections and great photos to share.

In the meantime, grab hold of all those in-between moments and find the joy, wonder and possibilities they hold.

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What I learned at a bedside

10/8/2019

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One day on my travels I was forced to stop and wait while some farmers tried to get their uncooperative cows across the road. There seemed to be no way to get them to move any faster even with a good hefty push from behind.

I know the feeling. I meet it as I stand behind people with trolleys piled high in the supermarket, wondering if I’ve chosen the quickest line. While hanging on the end of the phone waiting the 90 minutes it generally takes to connect with Centrelink or observing all the other people waiting, lined up around the walls of the doctor’s surgery as my 10 o’clock appointment drags on till 10:45 because he’s running late.

Waiting is an integral part of life.

There’s the joyful anticipation sort of waiting … to meet the little person you’ve been carrying for nine long months … counting the days till a birthday or Christmas … the homecoming of a loved one … the long awaited holiday. That type of waiting increases our anticipation, longing and hope.

There’s the waiting that tries our patience like queues, delays, interruptions (and wayward cows, if you're a farmer).

And then there’s the really tough one … the agonising wait to know if I got the job … for the medical results I fear won’t be good news ... to find a life partner or to hope that this month I might be pregnant after so many disappointments.

My first pregnancy was a breeze, almost textbook. My second was a very different story … month after month of heartache and disappointment waiting to fall pregnant. One night after yet another disappointment I did what I always do when I’m sad or stressed, I did the ironing. I ironed the laundry basket empty, tears streaming down my face over every shirt, tablecloth and pillowcase. Eventually, exhausted, I crashed into bed and slept until the early hours of the morning when I was awakened by the smell of smoke. The whole laundry was ablaze. Distracted by pain I had forgotten to switch off the iron.

Waiting can be excruciatingly painful.

Recently I watched my friend dying; dying one of those deaths we all hope won’t be our lot. I sat beside her week after week and month after month as she faded slowly into a mere shadow of her former self. She was weak and weary and longed to go and be with Jesus but the journey of death was agonisingly slow. It was painful to watch, and each visit took determination knowing my heart would break all over again.

I pondered a lot about how we are changed in the waiting?

I learned that waiting invites me to face the reality of my own helplessness. When that deep gnawing demand for control that we all know so well comes up against a situation over which I have no control at all.

Waiting allows me the space to grow that still axis within myself that is comfortable with helplessness; that allows me to resign my demands for control and accept waiting as a gift.

And having got my attention, waiting enlarges me … it grows my patience, increase my mental and emotional strength and endurance ... it slows me down to remind me what's important in this moment, in this day.

I wonder if the times of waiting may actually be the most valuable parts of life.

I can’t make the checkout person work any faster, I can’t turn the traffic lights from red to green, I’m unable to make Centrelink answer my call any quicker and I definitely can’t stop the march of cancer. But I can accept the invitation that is being handed to me and learn the lessons waiting has to teach.

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Five gifts of friendship

10/1/2019

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When I look back over my life, it's not the things I've done or the places I've been that are most memorable, it's the people I've known. “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” Anais Nin.

I recently caught up with a friend who came to visit me the week I was born. We grew up together, then our families grew up together and we sometimes relive a lifetime of memories built around blackberry picking, prawning, bonfire nights, shared holidays and so much more. We remember mishaps and misadventures and can laugh about them now, in hindsight. I remember one camping trip. The camp site had a bathhouse of all things. Who ever heard of the luxury of a bath while camping? Loving baths as I do, I grabbed the opportunity. The only problem was the lock was faulty so there was no way of being sure the door was secure, so my friend kindly stood guard.

Later that night my friend's husband decided to have a bath but we forgot to warn him about the lock. He came back to the tent somewhat embarrassed with a tale about someone walking in on him as he bathed. They are the crazy memories that are special because they are unique to your friendship.

I love Mary Engelbreit's way of explaining it, "As with any journey, who you travel with can be more important than your destination".

To have a rich and enduring friendship is to have one of the most precious gifts in life. If you have one true friend you are indeed blessed.

Yet friendship seems to have become one of those overused words, in danger of losing it's meaning. Social media has minimised friendship to mere connections, and encouraged quantity not quality. While we might follow friends on Facebook, friendship will only ever grow rich through personal interaction ... spending time together ... investing in each other's lives.

You cannot put a price on the gift of friendship, it is priceless.

A friend is a witness to my life. Someone who has been on the journey of life with me, has believed in me and valued who I am ... who can remind me how far I've come. Someone with whom I can share my innermost thoughts and struggles and not be judged ... who shares my joys and successes and gets excited with me. Someone who truly knows and accepts me, a safe haven.

True friends have been a mirror to me, enabling me to see myself through another person's eyes. They encourage me to be my best self and discourage me from the things that make me less than I can be.

Friendship is unmerited grace. It's a commitment to continually turning up and being there for the other person, through thick and thin. Its about continual tolerance, mercy and forgiveness.

A friendship is a commitment of two people to invest in the relationship. There is no such thing as a nonreciprocal friendship. By its very definition, its a two way street, a mutual giving and receiving, which is both health giving and nourishing. It keeps you looking out beyond yourself.

Unlike our relatives, friendship is a choice. We are in it because we want to be. And the choice continues, the more I invest into the friendship, the deeper it grows. "Friendship is a slow ripening fruit" - Aristotle.

I’m not only blessed to have had some amazing friends throughout my life but I’ve had the honour to be a friend. I’ve been privileged to share both heartache and victories and to be trusted with innermost thoughts and dreams.

I treasure the tangible reminders of friends ... recipes shared and marked with their name in my recipe book; Molly's fruit cake and Shirley's Strawberry Mousse ... in plants swapped and now blooming in my garden ... in books given with names engraved on the flyleaf. They are happy reminders of rich times together over the years ... of lifelong friends and those just given for a season.

We leave an imprint on someone's life through the gift of our friendship.

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Helpless

9/24/2019

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My friend was stranded on the M5 near Mittagong. Injector trouble as it turned out. When the NRMA came they said her car would need to be towed to the nearest service centre and picked up a week later. She was advised to ring someone to come and pick her up.

I was away at the time so it was no use ringing me and she couldn’t think of anyone she could ask, so she got a lift to the nearest railway station and with a long wait for a train took hours to make it home to Sydney.

I wonder if I had been home would she have rung me? Would she have rationalised asking me to drive so far to pick her up? Why is asking for help such a difficult thing for most of us?

It’s so much easier to be independent or to be the one doing the helping than the one asking. And yet in those moments we can feel so terribly alone.

Last night my neighbour lost all the power to her house. There we were; both of us peering into the metre box with no idea what we were looking for or how to solve the problem. I suggested she ask the man down the street who is always ready to help, but I heard those so familiar words, “Oh I hate asking for help”. She didn’t want to bother him and yet she would have been there in a flash if he had needed help.

None of us like that feeling of helplessness or dependence on another person. It can leave us feeling inadequate and vulnerable. But maybe that’s the very thing that could open the door to a deeper relationship. It allows others to see I don’t have it all together, which is both my fear and my greatest gift.

Or maybe the main reason is we find it hard to receive.

Giving is easy. To be on the receiving end is so much harder. It takes great humility to receive, especially if we can do nothing in return.

I have another neighbour who is incredibly kind and from time to time has helped me with things I can’t manage (yes I am getting better at asking). Each time he helps me I take him some homemade goodies. It’s my way of saying thank you and letting him know I am grateful, or is it my way of doing something in return so I don’t feel obligated?

It’s hard to know the motives of my heart sometimes. Pride can be a mean taskmaster and rob me of the blessing of sharing myself, opening myself up so others see not only my strengths, but also my weaknesses.

And on the other side of the door, I feel grateful when I’m asked for help. There’s a sense of trust and relationship that someone felt free to ask. Strange isn’t it, the very things that can bring us together in this shared thing called life, so often get bogged down in pride, shame and independence and the opportunities for both of us to be blessed, are lost.

Friendship and trust are most often forged through adversity or at least through the willingness to be vulnerable. We all need help sometimes; to believe otherwise is a delusion. Maybe its just help when the lights go out, giving support when a cars demise leaves you feeling all alone or maybe in a matter of a life and death situation, but offering and receiving help is a beautiful thing.

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Forgotten songs

9/17/2019

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There are many ways to tell a story. Michael Thomas Hill chose to tell his with 120 birdcages suspended above Angel Place, looking as if they are floating on air. It looks delightfully whimsical although the story is far from a fairytale.

It's a story of loss. The loss of 50 species of bird that once lived and thrived in the city of Sydney. Urbanisation and redevelopment have driven them out; part of the lifeblood of a city gone forever.

The artwork is called, Forgotten Songs. In a beautifully imaginative way, the artwork is brought alive by recordings of each of those bird’s songs played throughout the day from weatherproof speakers in the base of some of the cages.

The recordings have been scheduled to play at appropriate times depending on whether the bird is diurnal or nocturnal. It's a graphic and emotive way to tell a story.

It made me ponder on all the other losses in our city and in our lives. All around the city high-rise tower blocks have crowded the landscape, blocking out the sun and light that bring life and warmth.

Modern architecture has almost wiped out the sparrow that nests in buildings with roof voids, crevices in walls or under eaves, all of which are missing in modern buildings. When I was growing up, our neighbourhood was alive with sparrows, blue wrens and Willy wagtails. I haven’t seen any of those birds for years.

But it’s not just the bird life. In a neighbouring suburb I’ve just watched two Federation homes being demolished and replaced with an ugly, high-rise concrete apartment block. There were two losses, the beautiful craftsmanship and timber in those homes that went to the scrapheap, and the loss of two beautiful gardens. What price can be put on the trees, shrubs, flowerbeds and lawn, so vital to birds, bees, butterflies and a plethora of living, giving critters?

And I see it everywhere as new homes and apartment blocks rise up all around me, land cleared of every tree and scrap of nature then a token garden added; the obligatory bit of greenery to tick the box. Buildings now cover so much of the block that there is little room for a garden and even less for trees.

We are methodically destroying the life force given to sustain us. Gardens are not just a thing of beauty or a pastime for those who like that sort of thing, but a vital living part of our environment. We were created to be a part of the natural world and it supplies all we need. That’s why getting our hands in the soil is so therapeutic and why walking in the bush or walking barefoot along the sand breathing in the salt air, is so invigorating.

It's a delicate dance, keeping the balance of nature in our lives and in our world. Never in my lifetime have I seen so much stress, obesity, autoimmune disease, cancer and depression as is evident today and I can’t help thinking it is largely our disconnect with nature and the ongoing destruction of the very cycle of life of which we were designed to be a part.

We can’t fix the world, but we can create our small patch of healthy environment wherever we are, even on a balcony or tiny courtyard. I’ve tried to fill my garden with as many different types of plants as possible to sustain the greatest number of living creatures in the soil and above … lots of flowers for the bees and butterflies and as much fragrance as possible for insects and for me.

Lavender and rosemary are hardy, forgiving plants that need little tending and are wonderfully healing. I love a vase full of rosemary in my kitchen so I throw the leaves into lots of dishes and the stems grow roots in water providing economical plants!

I dig all my veggie peelings into a hole in the ground and watch the worms and microbes transform them into nutrient rich soil in a matter of weeks. That reminds me that life is a beautiful and delicate cycle and we have the privilege and responsibility to play our part. The benefits and rewards are endless, for us and for the environment.

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There is a place at the table

9/10/2019

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Wes Franklin, graphic designer, sharing his skills

Sometimes, sitting across the table with people who love us, food on the table and laughter in the air, belonging is easy. Other times, when the warmth of home is a mere memory, a stranger’s kind smile will be the only promise that we are not alone. Then the best way to find belonging will be by letting others find belonging in us. Marianna Pogosyan

A group of creative and visionary souls are breathing new life into the meaning of belonging. They’ve prepared a table where anyone is welcome.

Sometimes the table is heavy with food and there is laughter and stories and friendships are built. And sometimes there’s artwork or music or the chatter of children around that table because the door is wide and all-inclusive.

The inspiration came when a no-longer-used old church site became available in Bendigo, Victoria. Now known as The Church on the Hill, it's a place of inspiration, transformation and community, irrespective of age, culture or background. In fact that's its strength, connecting and learning from one another, doing life together.

There's a Community Garden for those who love to get their hands in the soil or those keen to learn. It encourages social connection as well as being a great way to provide fresh food for people in need. The gardens are filled with the healthiest produce I've ever seen and in one corner are the chubbiest and most contented chooks.

The Living Room provides a Friday morning space for people to chat and relax, to build friendships and share stories. I met one lady who lives in a retirement complex and loves getting out amongst younger people and people from different cultures, to remain interested and involved.

The Old Church on the Hill is a heartbeat of the community with something for everyone, Jazz club, playgroups, kids club, drama group, life drawing, youth and craft groups and a fixer-upper group which helps mend household goods to save them going to landfill. A monthly multicultural feast and story time provides people a glimpse into other cultures and builds bridges and understanding. And there's so much more.

We were not meant to walk alone. We were created for community and the deepest longing of our soul is for belonging.

In a world where there is such a strong emphasis on independence, where social media and digital communication is increasingly replacing face to face connection, and loneliness is in epidemic proportions, what a beautiful thing it was to experience this group of people giving a sense of belonging to each other as they shared life together.

There was a feeling of warmth and welcome that permeated the place and let me know that the words on the wall were not an empty platitude but a apt description of the intent of people's hearts. It is a place where people are valued and cared for and it shows. I was truly blessed by being there.

Maybe someone will cross your path tomorrow for whom your smile will let them know they are not alone and maybe for all of us the best way to find belonging is to let others find belonging in us.

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Silk purses and sows ears

9/3/2019

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There’s something wonderful about walking in to a guest room someone has prepared especially for you. I had that experience recently where all the little thoughtful touches made me realise I was truly known.

On the end of the bed, on top of a carefully folded towel, was a cake of soap that had my name all over it … the fragrance; fragrance is one of my favourite things. The wrapping; beautiful botanical artwork; I love all things botanical, and in my favourite colours … a small thing, with so much meaning.

The soap was luxurious and beautiful to use but it was the wrapping that fascinated me. I brought it home as a keepsake and eventually framed it. Now it has pride of place on my coffee table and brings me joy every day.

Who would have thought that a soap wrapper could become a framed work of art? But how often do we do that, fail to see the beauty in the small things that make up the everydayness of life? It made me wonder how much beauty I discard without a second thought.

Last week as I was leaving my daughter’s home, my grandson gave me a big hug and said, “That’s the last hug I can give you”. I looked puzzled and he explained that we would never again have this day to hug; we may have another day, but never this day. What a great attitude for life!

I can’t frame the hug but I will forever remember his words and try and emulate his zest for living in the moment.

A very long time ago, sometime in the 1700s, Samuel Foote said, “Who can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear?

Recently I read about a small team of people doing just that. Near Fremantle Harbour there’s a lot that had become an unsightly dumping ground. Three brave souls had the vision to turn it into an English style garden known as Field of the Unwanted. The beds were carefully laid out with pathways meandering throughout and the plants were carefully selected and nurtured. The thing that set this garden apart was that all the plants were weeds.

It was a garden with a message. Life is about our perceptions; we decide what is beautiful and what is not. Sometimes what we consider ugly or only worth discarding may be beauty in disguise.

Next door to the garden is a drop-in centre providing for the homeless. One of those homeless men, walking through the garden, remarked, “You should get us all in and take a photo of the unwanted people in the unwanted field”. How easily people can feel unwanted, worthless or even invisible when in reality they are beautiful souls with a good heart and endless potential, but just in a difficult time and place in their lives.

I'd love to go for a walk through that garden and be inspired. But whether I get that chance or not, I don’t think I will ever look at the weeds in my garden in quite the same way again. I think now they will always be a reminder that beauty is in the eye of the beholder not in the innate nature of the plant or the person.

I hold the power to see beauty in every aspect of my life and in everyone I meet.

Explore The Field of the Unwanted

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Puppy love

8/27/2019

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He was six years old and had already been in 49 foster homes.

She had become so reactionary and violent that she was only allowed to attend school one half day each week and just one on one with a teacher.

On a small spot of earth, just beyond Bendigo, Victoria, a group of ordinary, everyday people are changing the lives of these two children and thousands of others. It’s an inspirational story.

What began as a vision to reach out to children struggling with health or life issues using the powerful connection with puppies, has blossomed into an organisation called Righteous Pups, which to date has helped 5000 young people through animal assisted therapy.

The dogs are trained for approximately two years at a cost of $29,000 per dog and then the real miracles begin.

Some are given to children on the Autism spectrum and the changes can be life altering for the child and their family. The dogs provide a sense of security, safety and connection as many children with autism are often more able to interact with pets than people. They often have little awareness of danger and the dog will protect them by anchoring or tethering the child so they can’t run onto a road or railway line.

And these trained puppies are also being used to help children with Type 2 diabetes.

Then there are the traumatised children, like the six year old who has experienced 49 homes in his short life, oh my heart broke when I heard his story. But working alongside a counsellor, the dog and his trainer can help these children process and reestablish their lives. They bond with the dog and learn important skills, like trust. It's a slow process but one that can free a child to live a much more settled and successful life.

But that’s just half of the story. While trained dogs are helping many children navigate their lives successfully, many more children and teens who are struggling with life are being helped in a very different way. Some are bullies; some have been mercilessly bullied, while others are disengaged educationally and at risk of not being able to get a job in the future.

These young people are able to spend one school day each week at Righteous Pups, learning to care for and eventually help train the puppies. For many of them it's their first taste of community and achievement and gives them a sense of worth and motivation.

One young man who was causing constant interruptions at school because he was finding it difficult to concentrate and sit still was given a dog to train that had the same personality. The boy got frustrated at the dogs inability to follow orders and his restlessness. Slowly he came to realise the frustration his teachers must be feeling. He learned from experience what words could never have taught him.

And now the organisation is gearing up to train court dogs.

Court is a terrifying place for a child and if they have to relive the horror of a crime they witnessed or an abuse they experienced, it can be extremely traumatic. In the USA they have found that a trained dog can reduce stress and cortisol levels, lower blood pressure and let the child feel they are not alone.

Often the child will feel able to tell the dog what happened rather than the trauma of opening up to a stranger, something many of them can't do. The dogs are permitted to sit with the child in the witness box and just being able to pat the dog somehow brings a sense of calm and comfort that enables them to cope. Often it’s the first step in helping them rebuild their lives.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the insurmountable need I see all around me. I think that's why I love to discover ordinary people doing small things that can be life changing. Its not just the dogs and their trainers but the myriad of people doing their small bit; the donors, without them the organisation couldn't exist; the 30 volunteers who give their time and passion to support the work, and the tireless team that make up Righteous Pups working alongside children and transforming lives.

It's a beautiful thing to witness the changes in these children and to realise how different their futures will be because of someone's vision and the dedication of a team of ordinary but exceptional people.

They are leaving a legacy in flesh and blood. Changed lives that can lead to changed generations and they will never know the reach of their passion and commitment into the future.

Read more of their story.

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26 letters

8/20/2019

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They fill the libraries of the world, construct every declaration ever given and hold the power of life and death.

It's a remarkable thought that if you speak English, every thing you say and every word you write is made up of just 26 letters. Each one of those letters a mere squiggle on a page yet it’s their combination that provides the power to draw people together or tear them apart.

Just 29 of them changed the course of history when Neville Chamberlain declared, “This country is at war with Germany”. It is estimated that a total of 70–85 million people perished as a result, which was about 3% of the 1940 world population (est. 2.3 billion).

Martin Luther King, in his deeply moving and passionate speech calling for justice and equality for his people, used 11 letters to frame the words that have become synonymous with his name; I have a dream. He paid the price for his activism with his life.

Letters. Words. Life-changing.

Those 26 letters can just as easily shape gratitude, encouragement and hope as criticism, negativity and judgement. They are keys that can open the door to apologies, reconciliations, forgiveness, truth and relationship. And sometimes it's the simplest words that mean the most; I love you, I care, thank you, I appreciate you, or can we talk about what happened? They are very small keys with enormous power.

They also give us the opportunity to share a part of ourselves, to share the world as we see it and to understand each other.

I’m currently helping a friend proof his autobiography. It's a life summed up in 281 pages, the joys and sorrows, the ups and downs and the faithfulness of God through it all. It’s liberally sprinkled with humour, woven through almost eighty years of memories, including some gut wrenching losses. A life spelled out using just 26 letters.

I imagine those words introducing future generation to a great grandfather or great, great grandfather they will never get to meet in person, but letter by letter they will come to understand not only the man, but the journey of his life, his passion for God and something of the lives he touched.

Recently, I was reminded again of the miracle of language.

Little miss 4-year old is learning her letters. She now knows p, o, and y so she can write her name, Poppy. Every time she learns a new letter or can put it in a word, the excitement and joy on her face is beautiful to see. There’s that wonderful unashamed sense of pride that only children can exude.

A whole new world is opening up for her; discovering how to read. Before too long she will be able to read a simple story and the day will come when words will move her to tears, or make her laugh out loud. She will have discovered the magic we once knew.

Along the road to adulthood words come as naturally as breathing and we lose a sense of the miracle and power locked in them. We forget that they are a gift. But unlike other gifts, words are a gift we all receive.

I may not be able to paint a masterpiece or write a concerto, but my words are capable of changing someone’s day, or even their life.

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The surprising thing about light

8/13/2019

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In the right light, everything is extraordinary. In my photographer’s toolbox, the most important thing is not my camera or the lens or even the subject, but the light. The right light can change everything.

It's a transforming power. Shabby, disintegrating buildings and rising damp mellow with an exquisite softness in the early morning light. In that moment they become alluring, enchanting.

The hopeful fisherman and his trusty rod glisten in the first rays of dawn. Who would have thought that a few lowly fishermen and their tackle could create such an emotive picture?

Whether it's the soft, forgiving early morning light or the mellow rays of late afternoon sunshine, light has the power to reshape the commonplace into something exceptional.

I don’t always see things in the right light. I sometimes judge too quickly or see what presents on the surface instead of what crouches beneath. Just recently I saw only anger instead of the significant pain my friend was struggling with. I missed her when she needed me most.

I allowed what was going on inside of me to obscure that was happening for her. Ironically, it's photography that’s taught me that sometimes all I need to do is move a few feet and shoot from another angle to get the right light on an image, and maybe if I’d shifted my perspective a little I could have been there for her in meaningful ways.

To paraphrase some words of that exceptional author, Toni Morrison, what does your child see on your face when they come through the door? Your critical eye summing up the messy hair she’d forgotten to comb, the untied shoelaces or the remnants of breakfast still clinging to his lips? Or do they see your face light up with joy just because they’re there? Maybe that light will go with them into the day, or maybe into the rest of their life.

Not many things surpass that feeling you get when someone is excited to see you, when their face radiates that wonderful delight because you are there.

I’ve experienced that a bit lately. One of the inevitabilities of getting old is going to more funerals. The other inevitability is meeting up with other friends who’ve come to say their goodbyes. Some you haven’t seen for 20 or 30 years, maybe longer. They’ve aged as you’ve aged, but the excitement at catching up again after all those years is extraordinary. The years fall away and there is joy and laughter and light all around.

The more I get out with my camera, the more I realise how precious is the gift of light. It makes things come alive.

I have people in my life who make me come alive. They bring light and joy with them, a generosity of spirit, a sense of humour and an ability to have fun. Their transparency shines through and they open doors to hear my heart and make space in their life for me. Often they give me a fresh perspective, shed new light that helps me see something differently.
They are light bearers.

Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life. Be the light that helps others see. Roy T. Bennett