'Your Kingdom come, your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven' -  Matthew 6:10

What if you enter heaven and it looks a lot like earth?
What if you enter heaven and it doesn’t look much like your church?

I mean if you arrive in heaven, and find your bare feet walk on dirt
Instead of floating in the clouds of your spiritual rebirth
Would you suddenly think that the planet has some worth
And apply some more effort to attempting climate change reverse?

Or what if you enter heaven and see all the minorities you’ve avoided?
Would you be disappointed
If you’re processed
by the refugees we processed offshore?
What would you say if they waited at the door,
Holding signs that said: ‘Welcome. Welcome one and all.’

What if all those mental health statistics who succumbed to suicide
Are there to wash your feet the moment you arrive?
What if you’re cooked a meal by a familiar homeless person
What if a drug addict is there preaching heaven’s first sermon?
And what if that preaching drug addict also happens to be a woman
Would you race to pull out Bible verses that say why she shouldn’t?
What if you find yourself at a table with muslims or gay people
Or whoever it is your brain has learnt to classify as unequal?

What if that thing Jesus said about the first being last
Means rich, straight, white dudes like me get a taste of lower class
While every one we have exploited, is poured the first glass?

I’m not just trying to be provocative
— but have you ever really wondered if
Heaven’s ready for you, but you’re not ready for it?

And maybe it doesn’t look at all like the picture I’ve described
But it’s probably worth asking these questions before you arrive
To avoid an awkward moment
if this is what Jesus has in mind.

The earliest memory I have is watching the 1992 animated film of Aladdin at the cinema. At the time I was the smallest member of my parents not so small entourage of Small kids. The scene where Aladdin is riding the magic carpet as the Cave of Wonders collapses into lava around him etched itself onto my brain at a time when creating long-term memories wasn’t really its strongpoint. Obviously it was a dope scene, so it does make some sense.

Today, over 26 years later I sat in a cinema by myself and watched the live action version of Aladdin. It was the first time I’ve ever been to the movies alone. It was also the first time I’ve been to a movie at 10am. And it was pretty freaking awesome.

On this same day, after reliving my childhood at the cinema, I rode a skateboard to a meeting. As I pushed one foot on the cement and felt the other at home on the grip-tape, a part of me felt a small twinge of embarrassment. Adults don’t ride skateboards to meetings! It's not very ‘professional’! But another voice inside my head chimed into the conversation. It was the voice of my ten year old self. He told me this was everything he could have ever hoped to grow up and be. The ten year old version of me would be proud of me (let's face it, neither of us can skate, but we're having fun anyway). Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I tried to win his approval a little more often, rather than avoiding the perceived disapproval of those who don’t ride skateboards to meetings?

If catching a remake of your fave childhood flick before lunchtime, and then skating to a meeting to talk about creative content you are being paid to produce is not living the dream…then I really don’t know what is.

But, it does seem pretty dang decadent, doesn’t it? It seems like there’s something wrong with this. As awesome as it was to go to a 10am movie on a Tuesday morning by myself…the journey there was paved with guilt and self-ridicule. Dude. It’s a workday. You’ve got responsibilities. You’re not supposed to do things like this.

So, what was I doing?

First, I was following my own advice. I regularly run sessions teaching people how to unlock their inner creativity and how to overcome their inner critic. One of the thoughts I offer is to consider the advice of Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way  — develop a daily practice of getting thoughts out of your brain and onto a page, and develop a weekly practice of taking your inner artist out for a date. She calls this part 'filling the well'. I tell people this stuff all the time. But, do I really believe it for myself? If I’m honest, whilst I ‘believe’ it at a head level, acting it out in my own life is still really difficult! Like most of us I’m pretty programmed to buy into the hype about work, productivity and self-worth being one messy bundle of ‘never switch off’ work-aholic tendencies. Benj and I have been speaking a lot about this on Season 2 of the Inhabit podcast, and it’s been a constant, personal reminder to make a conscious effort to move in the opposite direction in weekly and daily ways.

Second, I was following my wife’s advice. She did the same thing last week. Different movie, but same scenario of first ever time going to the movies solo. Same journey through a sense of guilt into one of liberation. Same sense of childlike wonder as she gave herself permission to be comfortable on a date with herself. I encouraged her to do this, so she kindly insisted I do the same. We used to go to the movies all the time together. I even worked in a movie cinema when we started dating. Since having kids, it's probably been about once a year. Whilst it may be trickier to do this together at the moment, we had the realisation that we can create space for each other to still experience this shared love of ours in a way that matches the season of life we're in right now.
​
Third, I believe that my ‘professional’ success as someone who writes, speaks, thinks and makes stuff is absolutely tied to choices like skating to meetings and sitting in a cinema during ‘work hours’. Creativity comes from having open eyes, being aware of breath in lungs, moving through the world with a sense of wonder. Connecting with your inner kid and remembering that in a world full of things to be cynical about (like reboots of movies from your childhood that are bound to make plenty of money from nostalgic suckers like you)…there’s also a time to leave the inner cynic grumbling somewhere else and be grateful for joy where ever you find it. Here’s the proof in the pudding. I’m a writer. Words are the thing I do for work. And my ‘date and skate’ is responsible for these words right here. The experience sparked my creativity and nudged me out of any potential procrastination and into a creative space. Living a creative life is not about trying to churn things out like a machine. It's about opening your eyes and ears to the world around you and then joining in the conversation. 

On a final note, I recognise there is a very generous helping of privilege/luck involved in my circumstances so I don’t want to come across all braggadocio about my trendy, creative life. I get to do some cool stuff for work, partly because I’ve put in hard work and sacrificed things and made some kinda-nuts decisions to live out of creative faith rather than following my fear where it tries to lead me…but at the end of the day I also am aware there are a million things beyond my control that I can only be grateful for. I'm not entitled to them. And so if this is difficult to read because you're currently feeling stuck in a job or circumstances that you strongly dislike and the idea of taking yourself to the movies at 10am on a Tuesday morning seems way too good to be true...then you may have to get creative with how you apply some of the principles here. But I reckon there's at least one question worth asking, where ever you find yourself right now:

What could you do tomorrow that would make your childhood self proud? 

How about you do that?

​I double-dog dare you.

This is a poem about hair.
It may sound superficial but there’s more to the story
These strands of thread are tied to the thoughts we
think as we try categorise each other
And the maker of all knows all by number
But, this poem was born for my firstborn bubba

When he entered the world he had glorious thick, dark hair
Like his mother
And she said,
Let’s not cut it until at least two years old
Let it be wild,
like the heart of our child
And so it grew,
and it said something about being free.

But the boxes come early and things must fit,
We must see the world through the lenses we get
So as my boy made his way through the world looking free
People began to say, ‘Wow, isn’t she
a beautiful little girl that you have?’
And I, fresh Dad
traipsed through mental mazes
As I heard their comments, saw their gazes
This is son, not daughter; boy, not girl
Why are we so quick to divide up the world
Based on arbitrary factors like the length of the curls?
And I felt some discomfort over the confusion
And some more discomfort over my internal responses
If I care so much when he is mistaken
Am I feeding into this system of simplistic division?

And so I decided
I want to be wild, I want to be free
And rather than boy just bearing the image of me
It is I who would would like to become more like he
And so out grew the locks, up went the bun
Wild and wavy, like father, like son

A small act of saying to the children I parent
That our external differences may be most apparent
But the length of our hair, the colour of skin
the clothes that we wear or our favourite things
These do not change the deep stuff we carry within
(we are all fragile bundles of the same stuff within)
We are complex for sure, but we’re also quite simple
This is part of the paradox of the humanity riddle

And so, this is a poem about hair.
But it’s also about being wild and free
Whether you rock dreadlocks, a bun, a mullet or fade
Blonde, brunette, ranga, hot-pink or grey
May your hair just be one of the ways that you say
The way that I am is more than ok.
Whether you are he, she, or don’t fit either so cleanly
May you know who you are, and learn to love yourself freely.

This Spoken Word piece was written for Baptist Youth Ministries Youth Pastor's & Emerging Leaders Conference, 2019. 

So we come as we come
from many places we come
some of us feeling undone
but each of us together, 
we are being 
restrung

You cannot expect the instrument you are trying to play
to sound the same as it did on the day it was made
unless you are willing to take it out of the case
and be retuned and renewed by the tools of the trade

Are you neglecting it by leaving it hidden from site
or do you abuse it by using it day after day and night after night
without ever pausing to let things rest and be made right?

If your leadership is an instrument
what kind of song are you playing? 
What kind of sound do you leave
in the ears of those listening? 

Who are you teaching how to play this song?
Who are you learning how to play it from?

Now pause. 

Leadership can be:
buzzword. 
hashtag.
Trending topic. 

But easy to forget the words of the rabbi:
‘In this world, leaders lord it over the people
but not so with you'

Ironically the Lord of all 
doesn’t lord it at all
He inverses it
flips it and reverses it
You want to be a great leader?
Then learn to be a great servant

Techniques, life hacks, programs, podcasts
I love ‘em, 
I use ‘em
but you learn pretty quickly,
you can’t outsource or fast track
the fruit of just being with the one
who says 
‘be with me’

And so, 
here let me shift it

No techniques
to take note of and implement

Let these words just be a song from instrument
to instrument

A reminder
A blessing
A song for fellow pilgrims 

let us be orchestral
whether you are from Wagga Wagga
Toowoomba, Narara or Thornleigh
whether you reach hundreds of young people or just 2 or 3

We play the same song
We follow the same conductor
We are filled with the same power
that conquered the grave

Now that
Sometimes is hard to believe

But breathe...

Every day new mercies come
Breath, a reminder of spirit in lungs
Taste the grace on your tongue
with every mouthful of oxygen
every beat of the drum
every movement, the strum
of your heart being strung
together into one 
with the cosmic son

Do not miss the reminders of the miracle of resurrection
Occurring even in your cells right now, the progression 
of new life bursting forth from yesterday’s graveyards
Yes, today’s hard
But you are a vessel
waiting to bloom with power in weakness
when you are feeling defeated you are closer to Jesus
than in your moments of strength where you feel you don’t need him

Somewhat ironic. 
A whole lot liberating. 
You don’t need to be amazing. 
You can let go, let grace in. 

Power begins in powerlessness,
in the moment you acknowledge 
you are not at the centre
you are not holding things together
you are animated by forces beyond your control
are you pushing against them or embracing the role
of an instrument
a conduit
a river
a branch in the vine
meeting place of the dust and divine

May you and I be water turned into wine

May we lead like water turned into wine

May we serve like water turned into wine 

During Noah’s first year of life, he had very intense gastro-oesophageal reflux. I wrote a number of posts during that time reflecting on what I was learning through that difficult and seemingly endless season (see some here). There were times during that year Sam and I struggled to stay sane. Coming to terms with a baby that spends a disproportionate amount of its days and nights screaming inconsolably is hard.

Yes, it passes.
Yes, these babies are generally still healthy.
They won’t remember it.
You’ll move on from it.
These are some of the things people remind you.
And they are true.

But to be honest, they just aren’t helpful things to hear when you are in the thick of it. Really, you just want someone who understands.

You just don’t want to feel alone in it.

That’s not just true of reflux — it’s part of what it means to be human.

As we prepared to meet our second baby, our experiences with Noah were obviously present in our minds. Will our experience be more ‘normal’ this time? Will we have one of those babies that sleeps? I am ever the optimist — but in this case the odds were stacked against Leo (as my father, myself and both of my brothers all had bad reflux when we were bubs).

Three weeks into Leo’s life and it seems fairly apparent that his journey may be similar. His early days have begun to move in a direction we are familiar with. Short patches of being settled (10-15 minutes), followed by long bouts of crying and screaming, settled by a feed, then repeat the process. When precious sleep arrives, it is often interrupted early by stomach acid coming up little throat.

I have been reminding myself that similaries do not mean same. Whether reflux this time round lasts 1 month, 6 months, 9 months, 12 months does not change the fact that Leo is not Noah. Whether or not we use the same coping strategies, or find different ones, Leo is not Noah. Leo’s first week, first month, first year of life is his own. And whilst we may find ourselves walking through similar territory we have trudged through before, we will remind ourselves that we have not been here before. This is new. This is difficult. This is beautiful. This may be familiar, but this is fresh. When I find myself wondering ‘how will we survive that again?’, I tell myself that is not what is happening here. This may stretch and test us, but this is a new path, we walk together as four of us. And it will have its own highs and lows to navigate.

Like this profound moment last night,
this memory I am drilling into my brain,
this lesson I do not want to miss.

Leo was in one of his worst bouts of reflux screaming yet. Sam was preparing some dinner and I was just holding the little guy and rocking in the rocking chair while he screamed. After 20 minutes or so of his cries, Noah came over to me, and climbed up to sit on my right leg, while Leo rested on my left shoulder. For a good couple minutes Leo continued to cry, Noah snuggled in, and he gently touched Leo a couple of times, while he watched him struggle.

In many ways, it was ordinary. It was something I could have missed. A blur between loads of washing, changing nappies, keeping little and big humans fed and watered.

But here is why I noticed it.

So far during Leo’s short life my impulse has been to want to shield Noah from Leo’s cries. Obviously this is somewhat unavoidable - but where ever possible I have tried to take Leo outside to walk up and down the driveway when he is in discomfort, or I have encouraged Noah that he can play in his room if he feels uncomfortable when Leo is crying. I know how my insides can feel after a long session of baby screams,  so I can’t imagine what they feel like for a two year old who has only ever lived with two adults so far and did not have any choice in sharing life and blood and bedroom with this new housemate.

But, last night on the rocking chair I had given up trying to ‘resolve’ the crying. I just held my roaring lion and gently rocked back and forth, trying to be present with him in his pain. And Noah, chose to engage by moving closer to suffering. He climbed up to share lap with screaming brother. Without a word he gently touched Leo’s shoulder, and back and forth we rocked, we three. Authentic. Messy. Wonderful.

And moments like this speak truth deeper than themselves don’t they?

A Dad, a rocking chair, a toddler and a crying baby.

But more than that, a window into what happens when we stop trying to fix each other’s pain. When we sit together, rock together, presence ourselves exactly where we are. Awake and aware.

And even here, we will find beauty.

​Even here, we will find grace.

Well, it's officially a few days into 2018. 

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions - given their tendency to lean towards super unrealistic, guilt-laden goals rather than the steady forming of small habits that can lead to lasting change,

BUT having said that, 

I do love beginnings. (I'm a 7 on the enneagram* - basically meaning I get PUMPED about starting things...even if I struggle a little more at the finishing end). 

It can be daunting thinking about how you 'begin a year', but it's a lot easier to  think about how you begin the simple gift that is the day before you. 

So, here are my personal 'secret ingredients' for starting the day well. I don't always get to do each of these, but I definitely notice the difference on the days I do.

Recently, we moved house. 

There were numerous lessons in this.

There was the confronting experience of realising just how many items we had managed to accumulate. When you load the hired truck for the fourth time and there are still odd bits and pieces left in the house that you will need to come back for tomorrow…you start disliking your stuff and asking some hard questions about why you have so much of it. ​

In the previous post, I shared 'Three things that have changed since I became a parent', reflecting on how much taking care of a tiny human can flip your world inside out. 

Everything changes. 
Well, almost everything.