That teeny weeny itsy bitsy glimmer of hope.

One thing I ask of the Lord

This is what I seek

That I may dwell in the house of the Lord forever

All the days of my life

To gaze upon the beauty of the Lord

And to seek Him in His temple


I know it’s less than a glimmer, I know that it’s less than the probability of winning the Lotto, but God, with You, everything is possible.

I cannot will anything to happen and to work my way, so Lord, please let me leave this in Your hands.



I thought about the moment you shared about your family’s struggle with breaking away from the RC chains and being enveloped by Christ’s love, and how you hoped that I was praying to the right God.

Well we now know there is only one God.

But it’s too late for me to say thank you. You were such an angel.

It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

– Robert Hastings

How aptly appropriate.

How do I come to You?

The truth is, no matter what a tosser you were and probably still are, you have been the only person who made me feel as special as someone I have never been, and never will be.

Some call that a honeyed tongue, but in times like these, perhaps that’s exactly what I need. 

You called me perceptive when I was randomly babbling, you called me beautiful when I was a mess, you made me feel like somebody when I was a nobody. 

I don’t miss you, but I miss the feeling of devouring words that connected another heart to mine. 

There is not one better feeling than the peacefulness in taking even one baby step closer to our God.

I thank you, Lord,
for the victory that growing brings.
In surrender of everything
life is so worth while.
And I thank you, Lord,
that when everything’s put in place,
out in front I can see your face,
and it’s there you belong.


Dear Father

May this be a new start.

Trust and obey, there is no other way.

To be happy in Jesus

But to trust and obey.



Dear M, you walk all over me at work but it’s ok because my God has said that it is His to avenge.

Dear P, you manipulate me and undercut me in so many ways but it’s ok because my God has said that my treasures are built up in the heavens.

Dear self, you may be defective in so many ways but it’s ok because my God has said that I am a new creation in Him.


God please give me strength.


I’ve started again.

It’s not permanent, it doesn’t last, and it helps me to cope.

In spite of all this, I’m still trying, I really am.


Six feet beneath this cheery disposition and facade of warmth (offline, of course), is a moonless pit of despair, hoplessness and a dire sense of worthlessness.

Oh Lord.

I felt an overwhelming sense of relief when I dreamt of this particular scene one night, where I turned around and said to myself, “Ah, that’s good that I’m finally getting the help I need.”


There’s this thing that I’ve termed a “watershed song”, which basically a song that I’ve heard at a particularly significant time in my life, and when listened to again, reminds me of the time, place and circumstance that I was involved in when I marked that particular watershed.

It sounds simple, and really, it is, but the strong memories evoked by these songs are probably, and hopefully, something that will remind me how life has been, and has changed by so infinitely much. 

So tonight, this is what I did – I listened to Delta Goodrem’s Innocent Eyes and I remembered the time I fought my demons and took the step away from the insanity of self-imposed perfection and a step towards self-focussed therapy. 

I listened to Elan’s Midnight and I remembered the difference it made to feel the genuine concern of a real human being while being so many miles away from home.

I listened to Christina Aguilera’s Can’t Hold Us Down and I remembered the times that I tried so hard to be who I was not and could never ever end up being (thankfully).

I listened to Breathe’s Hands to Heaven and I remembered the delusions I held stubbornly onto about my first love, and how hard I had to fight to be with, and then without, him. 

I listened to Katie Melua’s The Closest Thing To Crazy and remembered how emotional pain can be so intense that it could end up being physical, and how I thought that being twenty-two was, um, old. 

Mood incongruent recall?  



I struggle with balancing my avoidance of conflict, Type-A aggression, introverted personality, serious anger management issues, with my contradictory tendency to be a doormat. Ironic, much?

I hate the way you treat me and I hate it how I end up trying to hopelessly fill this horrible, horrible void with caffeine, sleep-deprived exhaustion, and engaging in reckless impulse-driven retail therapy.  

And above all, I know that I want to, and will inevitably have to turn back to, the One who has made it all, because only He will ever, ever, suffice.