Category Archives: Slice of Life

Scarcity and Prayer

119HThe answer came as a little rectangle of paper, a few lines printed across it, nothing else. As answers to prayers went, I was decidedly underwhelmed.

I sighed, and scrunched my eyes a little tighter to squeeze whatever other clue out I could get.

A little piece of paper, some empty lines… and a smoothed lead pencil. Ah… recognition. In response, a blink type effect, then two names are there, carefully pressed into the paper. My ex-husband’s name, and his wife’s.

I am not a god of scarcity.

Huh. I ended my prayer and rolled into bed mulling the answer over like it was a loose tooth.

I’ve been wrecking myself against some significant decisions lately. I’ve had the stresses of starting a new job, beginning the second year of my degree, my youngest has started high school, and my oldest is in his final year. I’ve come home some nights late in the evening, to the assorted messes and heavy slumbering heat two teenagers can make, and wondered just what on earth I was trying to do with my life. Continue reading

Blood Isn’t Thicker Than Water

blood water

I donate blood. Not for money, not for a love of pincushions, but because I know it makes a difference. (The Australian Red Cross Blood Service also gives chocolate milk, juice and TimTams to donors afterwards, which is admittedly a sweet deal, but not my only consideration). Because I am such a fantastic bleeder, I now donate plasma – a component suspended in everyone’s blood that is literally liquid gold, precious and needed. The process is impressively simple: a needle into the vein, a tube from the needle to the centrifuge, the centrifuge spins when full, pushing the plasma into the waiting translucent bag.

Then, while I’m tucked up in a reclining chair, snuggled under a soft blanket, saline is mixed back with the remaining blood, and piped back into my arm. The cycle repeats three times, by the end of which I’ve read a good chunk of my book, have kicked back for about half an hour, and can see the sparkle and heft of 900 straw coloured millilitres (30 oz) waiting to be spun into saved lives.

Blood isn’t thicker than water. You need water for your blood to shove around your body, to be hydrated, to think clearly, to make it easier for your heart to actually beat and for your blood to move. The saline replaces the volume I lose in donating, and I’m always impressed at how faint a blush the tubing can hold, carrying my blood and salt water back to me, back to my heart. Salt water is just as important to your body as your blood is, and in my case today, I have extra salt water inside and out.

My grandfather is dying. Cancer is laying siege to his spine, attacking northwards and consolidating their sneaky outposts around his body. He went straight from diagnosis to palliative treatment, from normal routine to a hospital bed at home. This is not my Grandpa.

My Grandpa taught me about cryptic crosswords, introduced me to dry humour and quick witted conversation, and taught my seven year old self the complicated way to the local corner store to buy his morning paper (with 20 cents extra “in case you need it”). He bought me my first ever tape deck – a bronze brick of a single cassette player – for Christmas when I was twelve and told my parents to let me be so I could read. He and Grandma would argue over which of their families gave me my red hair, then each pull me aside later out of the other’s hearing to tell me it was their sister/aunt who also had red hair. “Red hair is in our family, Kel. Doesn’t matter where it came from exactly… But it came from my side…”

My Grandpa met me the week before a wedding. His son was marrying my Mum, and I was the orange haired, bobble-headed toddler that came as part of the package deal. I didn’t find out for decades that blood played no part in our relationship. Instead, I grew up confident I was his favourite and oldest grandchild, with no evidence to the contrary. Even when the truth was revealed to me ten years ago, and I broached it with Grandpa and ‘ma, they just said “We love you, so who cares?”

People care. Last week, after ten days of being softly and deliberately left out of the loop by those related “by blood”, I rang him.

“Who? Kel! Oh Kellie, how are you?” curled in my ear and eased the frostbite of fear. He knew me, was delighted to hear my voice, asked after my sons and my life. At different points in the conversation we each wheezed and rattled, but his love for me flowed through the line unchanged and unaffected by DNA strands and diagnoses, thicker than blood, more vital than water.

Blood isn’t thicker than water. You can’t live without either. Salt water of every kind is involved with all of us, in the families we choose, that we make, in the families and people that we lose. Some people give blood. Some people give love.

Blood isn’t thicker than water. The heart just wants to be full.

Which is thicker, blood or water? Why? 

Water, wind, earth and fire (and cyclones)

Tropical Cyclone Marcia, off the coast of Queensland Australia, taken 20 Feb 2015 by NASA

If my soul had a natural setting, it would be the densely treed Australian Snowy Mountain ranges, grey fog a draping necklace in the cleavage of the mountains and valleys. There is a particular palette of greens and luminous browns that create it, a eucalypt mossy tang to the air, a hitch of woodsmoke and rain that bundles me up in calm whenever I think of it.

Of course, nature doesn’t care much for calm.

Today tropical cyclone Marcia is creating havoc, damage and flooding all over the bottom half of Queensland, Australia. Normally I love rain – the slow waddle and roll of clouds across the sky, the countless musical ways rain can fall to earth – but today, not so much. Not only because over a hundred schools were closed in the state, not only because a delightful driver swerved into a puddle to thoroughly dapple me with a pool of rainwater as I walked by, but because too much of a good thing really can be too much.

But I do love rain, and the incredible wonders and beauty weather produces on this planet of ours (and other planets in our solar system!) Flamboyant sunsets, foggy winter mornings, moonlight sleeking shadows to silver, the dry lavender dawn that warns the day is going to be a scorcher. The tangle and ebb of the colour of oceans, the fluff and nonsense of kittens and ducklings, the curl and flaunt of flower petals. Then there are all the marvels I want to see. The auroras (australis and borealis), coral of the Great Barrier Reef, the cliffs at Calais, the hot natural pools in Finland, Irish wolfhound puppies. Creation in full throated, bizarre, exuberant song.

Too long ago I drove along a mountain road with a dear friend, where we stopped countless times to soak in the view of mountain, sky, tree and air. I stood under an aspen tree for the first time, and stood blinking hard at the weirdness, the utter uniqueness, of the sounds of its leaves. Each new corner turned would have us breathing “Wow!” or struck gloriously mute at the magnificence before us. It was a holy experience that drive, our sudden miniscule recognition and gratitude at how incredible creation really was.

So today it’s raining. Flat grey clouds dumping water without style or finesse, hiding the moon and whatever sunset may be happening far above me. But I know – as sure as it’ll rain tomorrow, as sure as this summer is starting to curl into sleepy autumn – that seeing grey for days will draw my attention and thanks to the colours and splendors that will eventually return, and sharpen my memory for the beauties I have already experienced.

“For the beauty of the earth… of the skies.. of each hour.. of the day and of the night.

Hill and vale and tree and flow’r, sun and moon.. stars of light,

Lord of all to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.”

(excerpted from Hymn 92, For the Beauty of the Earth)

Is there a part of creation that fills you with wonder, gratitude or surprise? Which part or wonder of the natural world do you want to see for yourself? If your soul had a natural setting, where would it be?

Surprise! It’s a TUNNEL!!!!


Rosalyn Eves recently posted a short video to her facebook of the reactions of babies going through tunnels. At first, they are comfortable in their carseats reclining in the daylight – perhaps gazing out a window, looking at their parents, distracted, or even crying. The car they are riding in enters a tunnel and the darkness is instant. Their innocent countenances change just as quickly. They are shocked, afraid, surprised, overwhelmed, delighted, or frozen in complete awe of what has occurred. Beams from passing cars rhythmically illuminate their faces and their big, round eyes.

Surprises can catch us in the just the same way. Suddenly, we are thrown into a new environment and all we can do is stare ahead and wonder how it happened. Sometimes we look desperately for the light at the end of the tunnel in order to get out of the situation, but other times we are hypnotized by the transcendent beauty of the surprise – like walking with your head down around a corner of a new city and the high city blocks open up into a plaza where an orchestra is playing.

We tend to not remember the days that are boring. We are on the treadmills of our lives – waking, bathing, school, work, eating, sleep – but there are days when a surprise box is delivered to our doorstep. Those are the days we remember. I think of some of those moments of my life:

The day, as a child, when my Mom opened the front door and my Dad stood all tall and handsome with a suitcase in his hand. He was coming back to live with us after a year-long separation. He set down the suitcase and opened his arms.

The day I was supposed to go to the university when a letter was slipped under my door with a request to pack my swimsuit and go to the train station. I started that day on the coast of Italy eating cheese and good bread and ended it kissing under a lavender sunset.

It was the middle of the night when a small voice cried my name from the next room. It was the last word I heard my Grandma say. I ran in to find her small and turning cold.

After two years of trying to get pregnant, the test finally said yes. My first baby was coming. I was so overwhelmed I ran and ran and ran until collapsing on my knees.

The day the call came in that they finally figured out what had been wrong for so long. My Dad had stage-three colon cancer.

There are many more moments when I was overtaken by events and I caught my breath. I am grateful for them all.

If only we could think of each day as a surprise and a wonder – because how we react when we go into the daily tunnel of our life is what it is all about.

What is a surprise that threw you into a tunnel of blackness or beauty?

A Body Journey

backpackerWhen I think of long journeys, I imagine a silver train slinking through the Russian landscape at twilight or a lone backpacker traipsing through the rainforest. I never imagined the journey I have been on for the last thirty days. One I had been preparing for a long time, but was unaware of it. I did not have any bags to pack. They had been packed already. No new shoes to purchase, because this journey was done in bare feet. I did have to buy a ticket, but I never had to leave my home. For the last thirty days, I have participated in the “I love my body diet.” It was a journey in finding love for myself again. Its an odd name, since there is no food involved, just a daily assigned exercise to increase awareness about oneself and a group of women who talk every day over social media about their experiences. Many of us posted videos as well. I have NEVER experienced close feelings with a group so fast. We were vulnerable and open and supported one another through this process.

The exercises were exploratory. Here are some examples. “Write 25 things you love about yourself.” or “See yourself in everyone. You are me and I am you. This is what you want to be thinking today. Look at others and see yourself in them. Let them be a mirror to you and discover where you are inside. See if there is something you can learn from each person you come in contact with today.” Or this exercise, “Write a love letter to your body. Tell your body all the things you want to experience with it. Let it feel your love through your words.” Many had a hard time with this one. “Stand in front of your husband naked and say, “I love my body” as many times as you can.” There was always something new to do that forced me to take a hard look at my thoughts and feelings.

One of the first exercises I did was a process of finding value statements for my body. However, to come to that it was required that you write down the things that you dislike about your body and your feelings toward it. I just looked back on that for the first time today. “I am short-waisted, short, short-limbed with arms like a quarterback. I look like an apple on sticks. I don’t like my double chin and wrinkles around my eyes. I have boobs that are way too large. My skin is dry, flaky, bumpy and my hair is thin. Things I resemble: T-Rex, Captain Kirk, Dolly Parton, Snookie, Queen Elizabeth in her older years.” As I read these phrases thirty days later, they do not even resemble my feelings any longer.

This is part of what I wrote yesterday when we had to go through each of our body parts and write what messages they have for us. Notice the difference:
“Hair- Keep working with me. I won’t let you down. The right hairstyle for your personality and face will come. Be bold. Don’t be afraid. Skin – Thank you for always being willing to learn life lessons from me. Eyes – Be awake – open – open – open to all possibilities. Arms – Please stop putting me down. Never again. We are strong and have carried much. Be grateful. Love me. Knees – Get on me more! We were made to worship and be humble. Ankles – We are free. Never wobbly, never wavering, no bondage. Feet – We are tiny, careworn, but wisdom-filled. Walking in the Lord’s paths of righteousness. We will carry you to your destiny.” My last body message was “I send love to all my body and all my parts. I send strength and a message of deep respect, awe, care, and compassion. I send forgiveness and gratitude.”

As all good journeys, this one has changed me. I brought home a great souvenir. I never realized before now that I had always thought of my body and spirit as enemies. One was always trying to pull the other in its direction. If my body felt heavy and encumbered, so did my spirit. If my spirit was sad, my body ate. Now I view them as best friends. They work together as one toward bettering myself. They house each other – a Russian nesting doll of love.

Have you had a similar journey? What life lessons did you learn?
Are you needing to take the same journey? Do you love your body?

If you would like more information, the creator of #ilovemybodydiet, Jennifer Lamprey, can be contacted on facebook or at http://jenniferlamprey.com/product/i-love-my-body-diet/