Pineapples and gardening

Our pineapple is growing!

And it's got these amazingly beautiful little flowers on it.

It's so exciting. I had no idea they grow this fast. It's still some way to go, but it's looking good. It's going to be the second best pineapple I've ever eaten. The first best pineapple I've ever eaten was when we were staying in Dadala, my friend's village in Gela. One morning we went out to see the mum's garden. First we had to paddle in the dug out canoe (well, to be fair, I wasn't paddling, but holding tight to Theresa who was busy trying to capsize us all) in the open sea and then through a passage cut out in the mangroves for about 15 minutes.

Then we walked - me carrying Theresa (who is now about 12 kilos) Isabel Style through a swampy path and up a very slippery hill to the garden, for another 15 minutes. So after a total of half an hour we reached the garden. It was massive. This picture shows about one fifth of the total garden, maybe even one sixth: I didn't see the whole thing.

This is one family's garden and it seems that only 2 people actually work in it! I couldn't believe it. The mum, you might be able to see, is a little blue blotch on this photo - working hard digging around the kumara. They have this little hut in the garden.

Typically in the morning, the mum, or the daughter, Mary, would go out to the garden, work in the garden all day, cook up a few potatoes or yam, rest in this hut when it's really hot, and then carry on, eventually carry whatever they've harvested back to the canoe, and then paddle home! Anyway, we hung out in the hut and...

ate pineapple. It was delicious. The most sweetest pineapple I have ever eaten - and all because of the half an hour effort to get there! I didn't even do much work - only spent half an hour or so scraping mud off the kumara.

I must say that when I visited this garden (this was a few months ago now) I was so filled with a deep respect for the good old fashioned hard working families in the Solomon Islands. Not all families are hardworking. Not all families here value that, but this family does. During the day, the dad always put the boys to work, the girls were busy keeping house, sweeping, washing, gardening. And it shows. They were well provided for, had the best house in the village, plenty of good food, and most of all, it was obvious they had the satisfaction that hard work brings.

People everywhere in every country strive for happiness and yet it eludes so many of us. Yet Solomon gave the simple answer of what will bring satisfaction in daily life. "That everyone may eat and drink and find satisfaction in his toil - this is the gift of God." Ecclesiastes 3:13. Interestingly, this is not beyond anyone. The poor can work hard and find satisfaction in their labour. The rich can work hard and find satisfaction in their labour.

Sometimes, in the west, we're so restless and unhappy, and I wonder, reflecting on my own life, if it's because we spend too little time doing real work that is useful, spending real time with real people building meaningful relationships, and too much time wasting time reading stupid books (and blogs), documenting our life's experiences, FBing and accumulating, fixing, storing, admiring, dusting our stuff.

What struck me when I visited my friend's garden in Dadala was that joy and contentment and satisfaction are actually quite uncomplicated. That to work, and love, and laugh with friends over a sweet juicy pineapple is simply, a beautifully fulfilling way to spend time.

An Ebenezer Along the Way

My favourite hymn (apart from "Jerusalem the Golden" - which, by the way, if you attend, please make sure they sing it at my funeral) is "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing". In the second verse, the writer says, "Here I raise my ebenezer, hither by thy help I've come." It's a reference to 1 Samuel 7:12 where Samuel took a stone and set it in a place saying, "Thus far has the Lord helped us". It's a good reminder for all of us to hold onto these ebenezers, these tangible things that encourage us along our journey, a reminder of what God has done for us and how God has helped us.

Yesterday I met an ebenezer. His name is John. He was the guest preacher at our church. He's a third year student at Saora Bible College here in the Solomons. Before he preached, he gave us a bit of background about himself. Like the woman I mentioned a few posts ago, John was born and brought up in a heathen home, worshipping Satan. He committed some crime and was sentenced to prison. In prison he met Jesus through various Christian programs, including the Crossroads Bible Institute of which we are a part. He became a Christian and when he was released from prison a year later, in 2008, he was baptised. And now he's almost finished his studies to become a pastor - the fact that he's at Saora at all means that he was nominated by his church as a fitting man to train for the ministry in the college.

It was such an encouraging story for us. Doing prison ministry is hard sometimes for us. I get bogged down with the paperwork. Jair carries the responsibility to go in faithfully week after week. But it was so uplifting to see fruit of the work - not our work, because we weren't here in 2008, but work of prison ministry here. Praise the Lord!

I just wanted to share that with you because I think it's amazing. Someone else, whose life was so bound up to Satan and his devilish practices, by God's grace, has been rescued from the dominion of darkness and brought into the kingdom of Jesus (Col 1:13).

John asked us to pray for his brothers - who are still heathens up in the bush. His pain was so evident. He knows the way they live, they way they are bound, the way they are imprisoned in a life they did not choose, but don't want to leave. And he knows where they're going.

In the Solomon Islands, Christians seem to have three categories of people. Christians (front sliders, as my friend calls us), backsliders (people who grew up in church, or were a part of church but have left) and heathen. Sadly however, all those backsliders, really are heathens too. Because there is no fence - or if there is, it's a nasty, barbed wire fence and you don't sit on it for long before you fall off into one or the other side. Sadly, "backsliders" are as much bound by Satan, so far as we can see, as heathens. Though they might not overtly worship Satan, like the heathens do, they rebel against God by turning their back on him. I don't think, though, that people here realise just how grave the situation is for so-called backsliders.

Someone shared with me a quote from Mark Driscoll that I thought was rather... profound?

"For Christians, earth is as close as they'll ever get to hell. For non-Christians, earth is as close as they'll ever get to heaven."

Let's pray that, as my friend said, the backsliders would start front sliding.

Let's pray too, for John's brothers, that God would rescue them, like He did John.

And while we're on prayer requests (which I don't usually write on here. If you want to be a prayer partner to our ministry, email me to join) pray for that God would provide another person to permanently work alongside Jair in prison ministry. It is such a fruitful ministry, yet the workers are few.

And let's hold onto ebenezers, because they point us to our hope in Jesus Christ. What are your ebenezers?

Helpful Tumas

I'm not sure about you, but my favourite posts are the ones about Theresa. Just because she's just so adorable. Just such a blessing. Just so funny.

Theresa is a very helpful girl. When she gets out of bed in the morning, she gives Laki breakfast and we untie him. Then she climbs into her chair all by herself (her latest skill).

She helps load the washing machine, and hang the washing and hands me pegs. In fact, once we were taking the washing in and someone from the Transit House was hanging his washing up on another line. So Theresa grabbed a fistful of pegs and walked over to him and handed it to him. He was happy - he was going to drape them over the wires. Then she came back for another fistful and gave that to him too. By this stage, I'm worried that I'm totally going to run out of pegs - they perish in the heat so badly that my limited supply is already quickly depleted. But thank you Theresa for being so kind.

She also helps knead things - although the first time I kneaded bread with her, she didn't like the squishiness and was very hesitant to touch it (just like she's hesitant... well, let's say, resistant to touching a chicken).

She touches Laki, other dogs, today she came to me with a bug squished in her fingers, she squirms her fingers through baked beans, but for some reason, touching dough was too gross for her. Until she slipped a small piece in her mouth... and then her love affair with squishy doughs began.

She stands on a chair next to me while I'm doing the dishes and spends the entire time cleaning all the plastic stuff - and pouring water from her sink into my sink.

She helps Jair make a daily fruit frappé and the best part for her is drinking it.

At the end of the day she shakes Laki's hand before he gets his dinner.

And the cutest thing:

she sweeps, with joy! Well, she doesn't really sweep, but she's quite fascinated with the Kastom broom, and when she likes something, she likes it with her usual passionate excitement.

Saturday's Adventures

I saw the funniest thing on the way to town on Saturday. A group of guys who were working on the road were having a bit of a break.

And this guy snoozing in the wheelbarrow cracked me up.

Jair spent a bit of time on Saturday working with John Stanley, an old school, long time missionary. They were trying to get this Land Rover up and running.

Then at night, Grace came by to grab a bushknife off us because someone told her there was a snake in the chicken coop! So I went to watch the adventure. The language name for this type of snake is "Tafu" and apparently it's poisonous, but loves eating eggs. When it swallows an egg, you can see the egg as it travels down the body of the snake. Andrew got in there with a stick and aimed carefully to smash its head. 

Meanwhile, Sandy, there dog, was sniffing, and rushing about the chicken run, and then proudly came out with a massive big rat.

Then Andrew killed the snake and brought it out. A whole lot of yucky looking stuff, which Grace said was poison, came out of it. There were no puncture wounds in the snake - Andrew did a quick decisive job at smashing its head in. Gruesome. 

Then, after Andrew came back from throwing the dead snake away, they found another snake, a sleeping snake this time, slithering into the back of the chicken coop - where all the ladies were sleeping. They were a bit ruffled. Apparently, sleeping snakes like to eat rats. Sorry for you, snake, Sandy already got the rat. Anyway, so Andrew's in there trying to get the sleeping snake whose head is in the chicken coop, while Grace, Amanda, Jemima and I go around the back to see the rest of the snake. The snake sniffs death, so he retreats and starts slithering away rather quickly (for a sleeping snake - they're supposed to be slow and dopey).

Not one to let a snake get away, Grace grabs this big metal pole on the ground and kills it with one clean blow. 

So, two snakes and one rat were successfully eradicated from the chicken coop on Saturday night.

What an adventure!  

worth the five hours

It's days like today that I'm glad we only have a worship service once on a Sunday. That comment probably doesn't bode well with some of you, but when you're in church for 5 hours on a Sunday - well, that explains it really. I mean, imagine 10 hours of church!

So the story of today is this. Did my usual Sunday morning routine. Up around 6:30, listened to a podcast, courtesy of my brother-in-law. Our download allowance (and internet speed on slowband) limits our internet usage to emails, skype and a bit of blogging. I'm infinitely thankful to my brother-in-law, but I also download to my hearts content once a year when I go to NZ. Yusss lots of sermons and good podcasts. This morning's was another one from RZIM. It was a Q&A session about a book which, even though I listened to the podcast this morning, I can't remember the name of the book! (I'm getting old!). They were discussing this book that pretty much apparently said that hell isn't really real and in fact goes against Jesus' message and mission. So in the podcast they're talking about God's justice and love. Here's a good quote which I did write down.

"A God without wrath

Brings men without sin

Into a kingdom without justice

through the ministrations of a Christ without a cross."

Nicely put! Shows why the idea is so nonsensical. Another thing I thought was funny (in the cool sense) was that the guy was talking about how we have a very romantic notion of love, February 14 kind of love. Modern humanity would translate John 3:16 to say, "God so loved the world that he sent roses... and wrote poetry."

Anyway, the podcast was very interesting and encouraging in reminding me that of course, God is just. He has to be. But oh the depths of his love (not Feb 14 love) to us!

Anyway, then it was breakfast and the usual rush of getting ready. I left an hour before Jair and Theresa, because I had volunteered to help out with Sunday school (hence I was at church for a whole 5 hours).

Ok, so got to church at Quarter to Nine (it wasn't till Quarter to 12 that I actually started counting). Sunday School was cool - never taught it in my life, don't think I ever will, teaching children really isn't my thing (which I why I chose to be a secondary school teacher once a long time ago in a dull moment of my life - what was I thinking??? ) but it was neat to be a part of Sunday School today.

Then around Quarter to Ten (in case you're wondering why I'm incorrectly capitlising Qs here, it's because I really like the capital Q - it's really rather elegant), Sunday school had ended and we waited as people turned up for the service. I didn't know this before, but actually, some people arrive early to church, some people (like us) just in the nick of time, and most people 4-20 minutes late. Although, technically, is it late if they haven't started yet because they're waiting for you? In this case the visiting pastor and his gang were late, but that's ok - it's a relationship not time oriented culture. And this time they explained why we were starting late. Last week we sat wondering for 40 minutes when the service would start.

Ok, so a visiting person lead the service. It went on as per usual. We had I think 5 different choirs (including the funny little song I had taught the Sunday School). That was nice. The whole time I'm gently pushing Theresa in her pram furiously hoping she'll fall asleep - she didn't:( Then we had a bracket of songs and then the visiting Pastor started preaching. Eleven Forty.

As you say in Pijin, go, go, go, gooooo, go, go... This one went on for rather a while, and I still am at a loss as to what the passage he preached from actually had to do with the Will of God - which was what he was talking about. Hmm. Now I see why good old fashioned, line by line, passage by passage, expositional teaching of the word of God in a classically Reformed three point sermon is just such a wonderful thing. To all those pastors whose sermons I've listened to in the past - thank you. I might have been bored at the time, but never again will I sit in a long yet faithful-to-the-text sermon and get annoyed. Oh that pastors and laymen here had even a tenth of the knowledge of sermon writing and basic Scriptural understanding that my pastors at home have! (As a remedy, I spent an hour in the afternoon tanking up on a sermon on election from last year's Easter convention in Hamilton, NZ while I was doing crochet. Ah bliss.)

Twelve Forty. He's still going. I'm seriously starting to have issues here. Mostly it's internal - why can't I just be patient and try my absolute hardest to listen to the jolly sermon. Eventually he finishes - but then, to my dread, he brings up another choir! Don't get me wrong, I love the singing, but by this time (this is where I start counting) I've been in Church for THREE HOURS! Ok, this is worse than the Amish. And I haven't eaten in FOUR AND A HALF HOURS. Not even a coffee break! The song the choir sings has one verse, which is repeated twice, then a chorus which is repeated twice, and then the whole thing is repeated 3 times!! By the third time, I'm starting to think that that whole Reformed 3 thing is a bit over the top. Let's just sing it once, a?! And I'm getting really annoyed. Now I'm really showing my true colours - and also feeling deeply guilty and repentant about how annoyed I'm feeling that I've been in church for three hours and counting and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight.

Finally, at about the three and a half hour mark, the Pastor (bless his heart) starts us off in united prayer for whatever is on our heart. The church erupts in this loud mass of voices and I'm praying that the whole thing will end soon. That's probably not a good prayer request but it does work sometimes. Or else God works in my heart and I realise that I don't want it to end so very quickly after all.

Halfway through that song, a woman with wild blond hair stood up the front weeping. After the united prayer, everyone else sat down, but she didn't. Instead she started talking, and the place was still as she told her story. I was on the edge of the seat. By this time, I'm glad that I've been in church for three and a half hours. It was worth all that time to hear her story.

She said, in language with someone translating - she didn't feel very confident in her pijin - that she was a New Soul. Come down from the heathens in Koio. She was born and raised there, worshipped the devil all her life. She said that they knew that no matter how many pigs they killed, the devil would never be happy with it. He was an impossible, dark, task master.

Then she was called by God. Her husband got really sick, so they went down the bush to the coast, to where the Christians - and the hospital - are. And there they became Christians. She was literally fragrant with the freedom that Christ had brought her when He bought her. It reminded me of the woman who Jesus said, had been forgiven much, who loved Him so much. I was shameful of my annoyance at the long sermon and long songs. Like she came down from the heathens in the bush, it feels like I need to come down from my own sense of what is acceptable, and what works well, and what we should put up with, and find freedom in Christ - the freedom that gives grace to others.

After she shared, we sang another song, had the notices and then waited for the shared lunch. I took the opportunity while the other women were getting things ready to have a chat to Salome (her baptised name) or Depidi - her original language name from before she became a Christian. She is hungry for the Word of God though she can't read. She said she knows her ABCs. I wished that she was staying long enough in the area that I could teach her to read. If the change in her life is just from the freedom and grace, and the Spirit of God, imagine how great that would become if she also could read the Word of God. If only we treasured the simple skill of reading as much as she.

Anyway, we had a nice shared lunch - I think you know from past posts what a shared lunch means in this culture. I've finally clicked on to the kind of quantity I should bring, nothing like the measly platter I would have surrendered were I in the west. I made a massive, double big batch of chocolate cake and there was enough to go around.

By the time I had got home, it was 2 o clock. I had been at church for a total of 5 hours, but it was worth it to see and be inspired and encouraged by the new soul, Salome, whose freedom from satan and the old way of life was so marked in her new life in Christ.

but... I'm glad we only had one service ;)

NZ Camp and Bloody Ridge

On Saturday we made a little excursion to the remains of the NZ camp from the Guadalcanal campaign of World War two.

The NZ Camp is very close - go down the road, cross the main road, drive along side Sun Valley and the back of the airport (formerly Henderson Airfield - closely guarded by the Americans in World War 2) and then up some muddy roads to some houses. There we stopped because you're supposed to pay $50 to go on the land. Well, this guy came out, drunk as anything. You know how some people when they're drunk are angry, but some people are happy? Well, this guy was happy and all too willing to talk and tell stories about how other rascals had come and destroyed the memorials of World War two in the area, but how he was a faithful and dedicated guardian of the NZ Camp. He didn't ask about seleni so we didn't say anything (partly because, we're uncultural about some things, i.e. we don't like paying to go on someone else's land and partly because we're dutch).

So we carried on to the NZ Camp. There was a decrepit, crumbling stone structure which at once stage had a memorial plaque attached to it. We parked our car and by that stage a crowd of boys had arrived to see what we were doing. We looked out at Gela in the distance and then traipsed down a slippery, needle grass infested "path" to this hole in the ground:

Then we crept in. Jair had the foresight and save to bring a torch along so we explored the dug out cave where the NZers had their camp. Unfortunately the rain had made it muddy, so it was infested with mosquitoes (I'll tell you if I get malaria in 14 days) and it was a bit gross. It was also really dark and none of the photos turned out, but it was pretty cool. I have poor estimation skills (Jair should be writing this blog) but there were about 10 rectangle "caves" dug out on each side of the hallway. The rectangle caves seemed to me to be about 2m wide and 2 m deep or so - big enough for the officers to have a little office and place to sleep. Eventually we reached the end - well, not the end of the rooms, but the end of the passage because the cave had collapsed at that part. So we turned around and went back. I was curious as to whether there were any markings on the walls, but Jair said he and some others had perused it pretty thoroughly previously and found nothing.

Surprisingly, Theresa didn't mind being in the pitch dark hole in the ground! I must say I think I'm more of an elf than a dwarf and had I been part of the fellowship, I would have much preferred the snowy mountainside.

After scrambling out of the hole and up the hill, we (and the bunch of boys that were following us) went up the road a little futher to Bloody Ridge, so called because of the atrocious amount of Japanese and American blood spilled there.

After a series of intense missions, the Marine Raiders were given a respite on Hill 120 - further inland from the Henderson airfield. It was deemed that they would be less likely to be bothered by attack from enemy ships if they were on Hill 120. They dug their foxholes and set up camp. But, the Japanese came up on the jungle side of the American defense - in search of the much coveted Henderson Airfield. The Japanese came in three waves, three different nights, each night when they almost won each battle, the Japanese retreated which gave the Americans a chance to hang on. Coffin Corner was the name aptly given to one of the hills on Bloody Ridge.

Like the memorial at the NZ Camp, this "Last/lost memory" (As the locals call it - we had a debate in the car whether they were saying it was their last memory or their lost memory...) was also rather a shambles - crumbling, destoryed, but it did provide (again) a beautiful view of Gela. The visibility was amazing - usually it's a haze, a dark blue blur in the background. This time I could make out the patches on islands where the bush was dense, and where it was just grass. Crystal Clear!

We also went to a few other lost memory spots - the Lungga river looked so refreshing from where we stood on the hill as it snaked through villages and planes. It made me want to go rafting down it - except for the presence of crocodiles!

In this next photo, somewhere just beyond the initial line of trees, was where John Basilone committed acts of bravery that were rewarded with a Congressional Medal of Honour. He was the first person to be awarded the Medal of Honour in WW 2 - or rather Medal of Honor if we go by American spelling.

I'm still gutted that John Basilone died at Iwo Jima. Jair told me as we climbed the red dirt hill with Theresa that Basilone is way over romanticised (swoon) but I, ever the romantic, feel gutted for his wife, who remained a widow, and never heard the little patter of miniature John Basilones in their house.

Then we drove home, met the drunk caretaker again where he proudly and wildly told us about his solemn task of protecting the history in the area and asked us for cigarettes. That's not something we carry around, but he was ok with that. And was still too drunk to remember to ask for money!

After a little over an hour we were back home but it felt like we had had a lovely little family outing (with Robyn - practically family too). When you live, work, socialise and lotu in the same place you feel a bit fenced in. So even a short outing like this is a refreshing break. There aren't many places to go that are safe, free and enjoyable or any of those three. That's one thing I miss about NZ.

But on Saturday afternoon, Bloody Ridge turned out to be a very safe, a very free and a very enjoyable place to spend an hour.

Prison Ministry on Tuesdays

Every Tuesday Jair goes to Rove Correctional Centre to do prison ministry. I used to go with him, but Theresa's at an age where she needs a lot of guidance and correction (maybe she should go;), the kind of guidance that our Haos Mere just couldn't give.

The main thing Jair does in prison is distribute and collect Crossroads Bible Institute course booklets with the inmates that are in the course. Around 60% of inmates in Rove are active in the course, and many of those that aren't, have already done the course. So, they're really receptive to it.

But he also meets with the guys, builds relationships, gives a devotion, prays with them, and runs a Christian book and DVD library. We've been blessed by people giving us money, so we buy DVDs for the prison library and give them to one guy who organises for them to be screened during the week (often multiple times), and then swaps it for another one the following week. It's a great little ministry as these guys have little to do all day, but love watching DVDs, and especially like the good, uplifting messages in them. Even the kind of "information" DVDs - 4wd driving, geographical type ones are a good way to give the inmates something else to do. (If you ever want to send DVDs to us for the prison library, don't hesitate! Just make sure they have absolutely zero violence and sexual content).

The guys also enjoy Christian biographies and the kind of easy reading Christian Living type books. Heavy theology doesn't go down quite so well with most inmates, whose educations levels are around Year 4 or 5. Having said that, there are some guys are interested in books like Total Truth by Nancy Pearcey. Anyway, they lap it up. I think they like a diversion from the daily grind of waking up, eating bread and drinking tea, sitting around for 4 hours, or jogging in your compound, having lunch, sitting in your cell, etc etc. You get the point.

So that's what Jair does on a Tuesday. Unfortunately, the Correctional Centre has limited the hours for us to 9-12, preferably 9-11! Eek. Sometimes Jair has to go in twice a week. Sometimes someone else is able to go with him, if they're available. We're praying for someone to be dedicated to join in going in each week with him.

But another thing we do with the prison is purchasing and distributing prisoner release packs.

SWIM received funding through the Compassion Catelogue for these prisoner packs and it's our job to put them all together. It's a simple way that we can help inmates who are released by providing them with some food and clothes for when they are first released after sometimes years of incarceration.

So that's what happens here every Tuesday morning. Jair is also involved with Tetere Correctional Centre, which is a farm maybe 38 mins drive from here. There he helps run a sports program, as well as the CBI and devotions, and has also organised for a basic computers course for the inmates.

Prison Ministry is a great little ministry, but it's tough going as well for Jair, so we appreciate your prayers!

Versatile Blogger Award

What a surprise! I have received the "Versatile Blogger Award" from Hannah at Han Drawn. Sometimes I'm surprised that people read this blog, let alone like it! So thank you very much, Hannah, for your vote of confidence! For those of you who haven't been to Hannah's blog - YOU SHOULD! She is an amazing artist, very creative, very funny, but the best part is she uses her incredible talent to communicate not only the trickiness and sadness of life, but also something of the beauty that God has created in this world.

But I must carry on. As Hannah said, those who receive this award must link back to the blog that gave them the award, list seven things about themselves and give the award to five other blogs.

So tick the box on the first task. Now for the second.

Seven things about me

1. I love iced coffee (I'm drinking one right now - it just feels like the coffee syrup pumps right through to my veins!)

2. I love singing, so it's a great thing to be in the Solomon Islands, surrounded by some of the best natural singers in the world!

3. One of my middle names is a Te Reo Maori name and both my middle names are common words from the Bible.

4. I can't deny this: I can't stop myself from making things - things that are sewn, food, cards, drinks, random crafty things. My fingers itch to create!

5. Last year I read a novel in Dutch (even though I only understood about 40% of it) and by the end of the novel, I even had a dream in Dutch!!

6. I think the best way to combat the problem of the "Mummy Brain" is to read books on theology, doctrine and worldview. It works a treat!

7. I am an introvert.

Ok, now for five other blogs that I want to award. These are my favourite blogs (as well as Han Drawn).

1. Talia I love this blog because I love the way Talia tells the story of her day to day life. She has such a humble and beautiful way of testifying to God's work in her life. And it's full of amazing photography. And she's got a really cute baby!

2. Family Five Leaves I met Lorina in 2011 when she and her family came to the Solomon Islands for a visit. I love reading about daily life in a two thirds world country. Reading their blog I think even when you're far away from people geographically, you can still be right next door through a blog!

Breanne Another blog I enjoy reading about daily life. I love watching Breanne and her family grow through the seasons of life. I appreciate her perspective on what is precious and important in life.

A Holy Experience Whenever I go on this blog, I come away feeling refreshed and centred again on Christ. Definitely a must-read blog (although I must admit, I always mute the music!).

A Beautiful Mess This is where I get my crafty inspiration. Love it!

So, that's that. I love the way people can connect through blogs - the way you can be encouraged and inspired by other people's lives.

I understand some of my readership is male, so sorry for you, I'm not sure how interested you'll be in these blogs, although I definitely encourage you to have a look. You might get some good recipe ideas, or hints on dealing with your toddlers, or how to get that vintage look that you've always wanted ;)