.treadmills.

If you’ve been reading my sporadically posted ramblings, you would note that last time I wrote about my recent love affair with the Gym. This love affair is still continuing, despite the fact Gym sees other women and leaves me exhausted and unable to walk down stairs (I did my first pump class a few weeks ago, rendering me incapable of descending down a flight of stairs without wincing after each step).

I attend an all female gym…this I mostly out of practicality (the gym is on the way to work), although I must admit the idea of doing a workout in a unisex gym unnerves me. I always end up looking like I’ve taken a bath in beetroot after I workout. I’m so red and sweaty that I’m afraid if I spot an attractive male, I’d be embarrassed, lose my cool (because I totally have it together all the time) and be catapulted off the treadmill.

While we are on the topic of the treadmill, am I the only person who is completely paranoid about stacking it on that confounded contraption? Being flung across the gym floor is in my top 5 greatest fears list. I have slow motion visions of me clumsily planting my foot, causing me to do the splits while I go head first into the hand rails, tumble down to the conveyor belt and manage to scrape my face off. Hopefully I don’t sound vain when I say this, but I like my face…. I’ve got a pretty good noggin and don’t want it to be mangled by a piece of machinery. Hence, I think it is perfectly rational for me to be hesitant to embrace the treadmill…. figuratively speaking.

Yes, I like my face….but generally speaking that’s where the liking of my ‘outer’ self ends and the loathing begins. Perhaps loathe isn’t the correct word….I don’t detest my body, because it really is a magnificent creation, capable of so much more than I understand. But there is a lot I would change about it, which is ridiculous – because it is fully functional without any serious issues (although I’ve realised my ‘upkeep’ hasn’t been so great, hence my foray with the gym), so why do I want to change it?

I don’t know one woman who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity…even people I know who look fantastic and would swap my body for in an instant (but I would like to keep my head!). Why are none of us happy with what we’ve been dealt? It’s completely unrealistic for me to think I will ever be a size 8…. I don’t believe I could ever be that size without looking completely emaciated. I have a solid/curvy build and (to a certain extent) I’ve accepted that.

Apparently, most surnames originate from the original family trade…. my surname loosely translated means ‘Cow Herder’…. what waif could herd cows around the Italian countryside? Genetically, I am made for hard labour and producing babies (courtesy of my child bearing hips). And while I am not currently pursuing either of these avenues, I intend to in the future (okay….maybe just the baby making).

I haven’t met one lady who wouldn’t change something about their body if they were given the opportunity. I see the same women at the gym every time I go, women who have amazing physiques and are running themselves into the ground. Yes, I do believe that taking care of your body is essential and I am realising this more and more…. but when exercise becomes an obsession it can be dangerous.

Negative body image, body dysmorphia and eating disorders are all serious issues. It is my opinion that while women are being given information to assist them in working through these issues, that media and society in general are still sending out conflicting messages. I don’t have the answers as to how we can repair this I anomaly….other than that each person (gender aside) needs to realise their value and not find that value in their appearance.

For me, I find my value in God. Knowing that he loves me regardless of my exterior and places worth on me, not because I look like a supermodel but merely because I am his child. This gives me comfort and hope in my moments of self-loathing and reminds me to focus on the eternal rather than the natural.

.mutant.

For somebody who's not dating or in a relationship I seem to have a few men in my life at the moment. No, I have not signed up for eharmony, rsvp or the like. Although the '23 & still single' advertisements which reside on the right hand of my screen whenever I log into facebook cause me to consider that I must be a mutant, I've somehow withheld from completing a riveting online profile about my love for moonlight, pina coldas and hiking. At the ripe old age of 23 I am resigned to a life of spinsterhood, but back to these men.

The first man who recently came into my life was Gym. I resisted at first, only casually seeing him twice a week if I could muster up the energy. Then I had a bad douse of the dreaded Melbourne winter lurgy & all communication with Gym ceased. However, a few months later, with all his charm, Gym lured me back into his tight clutches. Now I see him two times on a bad week & four on a good one. We usually spend about 40 minutes together when I see him. I tend to do most of the giving & he does most of the taking. He doesn't talk much. And thats okay with me, because if the gym equipment started consoling me during a workout I'd have to question my sanity, or at the very least my kilojule intake for that day.

The other man, Myki, I hold hands with at least twice a day. This is a very fresh relationship as it was only last week we first became aquainted. Oh yes, I'd heard of him. He has regularly been in the media & there are advertisement of him plastered all over Melbourne, but once again I resisted. Why get involved with a man who seemed to be such bad news? It was inevitable, I had to get involved with Myki - otherwise I'd never get anywhere. Despite the fact that we've only just met, the first thing he did was steal my money! I rang a friend of his to find out what the gripe was & it turns out that Myki had a glitch in his system that week. His mate assured me that he'd have the money back to me by the end of the week. Alas! I feel the trust is broken but I don't really have a choice, Myki is here to stay & I'll never lay my eyes on a metcard again.

Even though these two men treat me badly (I feel as if I've been beaten up each time I visit Gym & Myki makes me poorer by the day), I make time for them. Primarily I guess it is because they are two essential elements to my daily lifestyle - exercise and transport.

But there is one man, the most vital man whom I do not make sufficient time for. This man has never treated me badly, he has only ever loved & adored me...he woos me with beautiful sunsets & blossoming flowers. He cares for my every need & tells me I am beautiful. He saved me, reedeemed me & has made me the women I am today. His name is Jesus. He's the guy for me & always will be. Even though I neglect him for things like working out & resolving my public transport woes, I know that his love remains faithful & true.

.microwaves.

The microwave is a precarious household appliance and I just can’t quite decide my feelings. Primarily my microwave oven sees left-overs and soup enter its magical heating cavity. Now and then, I’ll steam some veggies or defrost some meat. And on the odd occasion, if I’m craving a bacon sanga (I love love love bacon, if bacon was a man, I would marry him) I’ll nuke a few rashers within an inch of their death and team with some toast, cheese and bbq sauce.

Aside from the odd rasher of bacon sizzling away in the microwave (only in the direst of situations), I am opposed to the idea of cooking protein in said contraption. The idea of scrambling eggs, cooking a steak or ‘roasting’ a piece of flesh on that whizzing turntable makes me want to dry retch. Even more disgusting is when you are defrosting some meat and the edges of it begin to cook. Every time I decide to defrost meat in the microwave I take every precaution to avoid baking the edges, and every time I fail miserably. No matter how short the spurts of heat are between each other, the edges inevitably turn to rubber and I end up trying to preserve bits of flesh that haven’t been obliterated.

Another peril of microwaving is the creation of a hot milo. I’ve never understood people who make milo like a cup of tea, boiling the water, stirring in the milo and pouring in a smidgen of milk. Milo is best enjoyed with a cup full of milky goodness. Thus, when I brew a hot milo it involves heating the milk. Doing this on the stovetop is just too much work and consequently the microwave and its magical powers come into play. Getting the timing right is essential, too long and your milk froths up like a dog with rabies and spills over the turntable, not long enough and the milk is left lukewarm. The perfect hot milo is steaming hot all the way through, with a nice chocolaty crust on the top. This beauty is nigh impossible to achieve, but once you are triumphant you’ll be sipping on heaven in a cup.

I get quite frustrated when I microwave food and it come out lukewarm. My Nanna used to always say ‘I like my hot food, HOT’ and while her version of hot burns the tastebuds off your tongue, whenever my food I lukewarm I can’t help but agree with her.

Not that long ago I was reading the book of Revelation and came across the following passage:

“I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” Revelation 3:15-17

I’d like to say that each time I read this scripture that it overwhelmingly resonates with me and I cry like a baby. It probably should, but honestly, it doesn’t often have that effect on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love God and I try each day to live in a way that honours him but I do fail. I swear, I have one drink too much, I am jealous of others, I gossip and I am impatient (and more!).

Basically, I’m lukewarm.

It’s not because I don’t love God, because I do. Most likely, it’s because I don’t fully comprehend what Jesus achieved for me at Calvary. I know that he died for me – I’ve read the book, seen the movie and sung the songs. I hear stories about people who’ve been facing death and have had to trust God with their life, because without him they would have been cactus and I wonder what it would really be like to let go totally and have faith that God was going to pull through.

If I had to truly trust God for my life, I know I would be clinging onto the truths of the Bible and definitely would be ‘hot’ in my faith, because it’s the only thing able to sustain me. Currently, I live in a self-sustaining society, where there is no apparent need for God, making it so easy to cruise through my days and forget about how revolutionary the Gospel is.

In a world with microwaves, we might think we don’t need God. But on the days when I do read the Bible and it truly resonates with me, I can’t deny Gods existence and how he has sustained me through the darkest times in my life. It’s in these moments where I’m no longer lukewarm, but hot, hot, hot. I wish I was always hot and not lukewarm, but truthfully, I don’t think this is attainable until heaven. So until I’m sipping on piping hot milos with Jesus on a cumulus nimbus cloud, I’m going to look at my microwave remember what he did for me and stay as hot as I can.

.exclamation marks.

A large percentage of my work day is spent drafting, sending, deleting and filing e-mails. Microsoft Outlook (or MO as I fondly refer to it) and I are like two peas in a pod, its my cheese to my macaroni, the spaghetti to my meatball, (tangent - who implemented the use of food analogies to describe a perfect match??? Nevertheless, they work....the ipod to my head phones, the tissue to my nose & the wheel to my bicycle don't really have the same ring to them).

Call me ignorant, call me blind, call me what you will, but I love MO. It wasn't a love at first type scenario, I admit. I've always been a hotmail girl through and through (the embarrassing email addresses still haunt me.....eg zany_zarzy) & despite the fact that I primarily use my gmail account for personal emails, its diverted to my hotmail inbox.

But when I'm at work, I don't have hotmail on my mind...its MO which is on my mind. The ability to categorise emails in pretty colours, the meeting request options, sorting filters and alternate reading pane views leave me in a state of bliss every time I receive mail.

Yes, MO has its problems, its glitches - as does every e-mailing program, but I love MO despite its failings. Yet, there is still one button, one icon which perplexes me....the 'high importance' option. I have one colleague who adds that pesky red exclamation mark to every second email, thus making its importance redundant. Perhaps when the icon is clicked, a pop up box should appear...stating 'High Importance function only to be utilised in the following scenarios:

1. In the event of a threat of nuclear war
2. The cafe down the roads delivered a bomb instead of my usual wholegrain ham, salad and cheese sandwich & I need to know how to detonate it or you'll be cleaning my intestines off the wall or
3. There's no milk in the staff room fridge & if I don't have my 15th coffee for the day I might go all Brittany Spears on you and shave my head'

So I've decided that the high importance button is relative. What is of high importance to me, is probably not going to be of high importance to others. I've been going through a season of learning about what I value....I've learnt that above all I value relationships. I value my relationship with God, my family and my friends. People are the highest priority and I'm learning more and more how precious and valuable people are. I believe all people are worthy of love and grace, God is showing me this and while I don't always act in a way which testifies to that, I'm learning.

.marbles.

Everybody hates losing things.

I've lost plenty of things during my time. $20 on the back seat of a taxi I neglected to put back in my wallet. Grocery items I swear I paid for at the supermarket, but that never made it into my pantry. CD's & DVDs, socks and on various occasions I suspect I've lost my marbles.

Yep, I've lost things.

In high school my best friend gave me a pair of black hightop converse sneakers for my 16th birthday. I loved them. I even purchased a mega cool pair of shoelaces covered in stars all colours of the rainbow to add to their awesomeness. The following summer, my brother was going to a music festival & his friend came from another state. She didn't bring shoes or socks (granted, I did live on the Gold Coast at that time, so thongs sufficed nine times our of ten - but who, knowing they are going to a music festival, doesn't bring a pair of closed in shoes?!). So I lent them to her.

Lets just say that somewhere in the returning to me process, that my beloved chucks went missing. It wasn't the direct fault of said girl, or my brother...but somewhere along the line they went AWOL. I was devastated & took every opportunity when the family was seated at the dinner table to bring up the aforementioned transgression. Has my life been tragically altered because of this lost pair of sneakers? No! Perhaps my street cred dwindled, but I'm no less of a person because of it. Truth be told, they were a size too small for me anyway and made me wince ever step I took, because my feet were so crammed in.

Today, I lost a precious piece of jewellery. An amazingly beautiful gold crucifix studded with pearls that was my great grandmothers. It has a lot of sentimental value. I hope its in the women's bathroom at work, or lodged down my top (I was on the tram as I wrote this and decided frisking myself in public wasn't the brightest idea), or floating around in the masses of paperwork on my desk which I neglected to tidy up before knocking off.

I almost cried when I realised I'd lost it (& I've already cried in public this week, in a pub of all places...so for the sake of my own dignity & the ugly crying noises my fellow commuters would be exposed to, I sucked it up). But crying won't bring my necklace back.

I text my friend from work to see if she recalled me wearing it, sadly, she can't remember. But in her reply she said "I'm sure it will pop up again, because you're such a good person", which is a really lovely thing to say. However, I'm not sure if I believe this. I know that sounds quite cynical....but if I have lost the crucifix where I think (I suspect it fell off in my frantic run across the street to catch the tram), then me getting the jewellery back won't be dependant on if I am a good person or not, but if the one who finds it is.

But what is a good person anyway?? I know many won't agree on my opinion on this, but I believe that no one is a good person in their own right. I believe that goodness comes from God and that apart from grace no-one can be truly 'good'. This doesn't mean that people cannot do good deeds (regardless of your religion or faith), but that something which is 100% good comes from God.

I don't know about you, but even when I carry out good deeds, my motivations can be tainted. Even if I think my motives may be unadulterated, often when I reflect back on a situation afterwards I realise that they were not. This is a hard reality to face. I don't like to think that the good things I do for those I love could done out of an impure heart.

I'm so thankful that God is good and that occasionally (and only because of his grace!) I do show his goodness to others.

.climate.

I never thought I'd say this....but I'm sick of winter. Growing up in a tropicalesque climate (on the Gold Coast) I only ever experienced winter for a maximum of 2 months. If I had to wear a jacket, then it was cold. I survived winter without a heater or even an electric blanket.

Currently, I don't leave the house unless I resemble the Incredible Hulk. 1 singlet, 1 long sleeve stop, a business shirt, a knitted vest and a coat usually keep my upper half warm. A pair of stockings under my pants ensure extra warmth. Then there is the accessories....scarves (sometimes two), a beanie and gloves.

Once or twice I've heard that doctors can recommend for those suffering from depression who live in colder climates to move to a warmer location. The chill of winter often forces you inside, not doing much for your social life or your state of mind. It is bizarre that the cooler months can cause something within us to die.

What I do love about winter is that it is always followed by spring. New life. The layers of clothing slowly start to come off, people leave the house, flowers bloom and the sun shines.

No matter what season our lives are in at present, we can be assured that the season will change and that God will bring new life. That he sees us through the seasons and no matter how dark or cold the place we are in seems, that he is light and warmth.

.cher.

Recently I've been waking up with bizarre songs in my head. One such song was Believe by Cher...

*sing it with me now*
'Do you believe in life after love' fa la la la

I don't own a Cher CD, or even have a Cher song hidden somewhere on an ambiguous compilation on my i-pod. I'm guessing I heard this track on the radio, tv or a movie somewhere along the way and its been lying dormant in my memory waiting for a moment to spring up and make me question my taste in music.

While trying to figure out how these lyrics came to be floating around in my mind one morning, I found myself following an interesting tangent.

Jesus calls us to think about whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy in Philippians 4:8.

But how about what we see and hear? We can think about all the things Jesus tells us to in Phil 4:8, but if we are not seeing or hearing things that are true, noble, right and more - how can we expect ourselves to think about such things?

Our minds, our hearts are precious. In Proverbs 4:23 Solomon urges us to 'Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it'. If all flows from our heart, which is inextricably linked to our minds & thoughts - shouldn't we be careful of what we unconsciously (or consciously) let seep into it when we watch TV, listen to music or are even having conversations???

Our lives as believers in Jesus Christ should be different, not only should we think on whatever is pure, lovely and admirable, but we should also be surrounding ourselves with these things.

.sink gunk.

There are number of things of which I am terrified, a random assortment of these items include:

• ‘Sink Gunk’: unidentified food scraps, which amalgamate and coagulate in the plughole of the common households kitchen sink.
• Sultanas - they ruin otherwise perfectly good food.
• Wearing a skirt and forgetting to wear underwear (Circa grade 3 I was taking the short walk to school and realised it felt a bit drafty. Needless to say, I ran straight home. My father still occasionally refers to me as ‘Knickerless’).
• Reality Television
• My Ipod play list being exposed to the general population. There are some CDs on there that would severely deplete what limited street cred I have.

You may be surprised that reality TV is on this list. Admittedly, I am not terrified of all reality television – just the vast majority. I’m actually terrified of most television shows. Crime dramas come a close second to reality TV in the aforementioned list. If the show is solely referred to by an acronym and involves a greying middle aged man sporting sunglasses in a science lab – I freak. News on the commercial stations almost drives me to distraction, the day the status of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolies relationship was reported on the 6pm news, I began to boycott.

Now, all this being said – there are two reality TV shows I enjoy. These are Beauty and the Geek and Masterchef. I like that Beauty and the Geek challenges the stereotypes we pin on people and how quickly we pigeon hole others. Masterchef appeals to my love of cooking and although George Calombaris’ constant state of melodrama and emphatic arm movements leave me fearing his arm is going to protrude out of the TV and poke my eye out, I am a devoted viewer.

Watching Masterchef the other week I found myself thinking that I didn’t really like one of the contestants. This saddened me. Watching reality television shows, it is so simple to fail to remember that the contestants in these shows are just that – contestants. Unlike the crime dramas and sitcoms that are on our screens that comprise of fictional characters, reality TV is just that – reality. These contestants are not actors playing imaginary roles written by a team of scriptwriters, they are real people.

Obviously, the producers of Masterchef paint certain contestants in a particular light and this can lead us to make judgements or observations about those partaking in the show based on nifty editing techniques. If I was on reality TV, I wonder how I would be portrayed? I know I have positive and negative traits and it would be interesting how the editors of a reality television show would piece my personality together. Would I be a hero, a villain or an underdog? How would the people watching me on television perceive me?

Thinking about reality TV in this light, really alters my perspective. Firstly, how can I sit there and make judgements about others? And secondly, even if for some insane reason, my judgments were founded – how do I know if a person’s character and personality is being truthfully depicted in the first place?

Passing judgement is a terrifying notion and next time, before I criticise the personality of a reality TV contestant, or the way they make a soufflé, I’ll think about how it would be if the tables were turned and look at the areas of my character that need altering and my soufflé making skills.

"Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye.” Matthew 7:1-5

.tomfoolery.

On April Fools Day last year I got done, stitched up. I had my guard down, I was gullible & yes I got fooled. One of my colleagues played a prank on me. Sitting at my desk completing my daily tasks, I heard the doorbell chime & knowing one of my workmates would answer, I continued tapping away at the keyboard. Then, one of the senior staff members (in both position & age, she is 70) came in & told me there was someone at the door with a bouquet for me. "Flowers! For me?? Oh my....I wasn't expecting this!". Half way down the corridor, I heard the words no one wants to hear on April 1st 'April Fool'. I skulked back to my desk, embarrassed that I had been sucked in & on all days - April Fools Day...

Reflecting on this now, I no longer feel foolish & fearful that Mr T is going to jump out in front of me at an unsuspecting corner, confronting me with his catch cry 'I pity the fool '. Rather, I think about how I had forgotten that it was April Fools Day & that I needed to be on guard. I've been paralleling this to the spiritual....I need to be aware, be on guard that the enemy is trying to bait me, fool me into sin....sending temptation my way to pull me away from God & into a lifestyle that doesn't honour him.

I know that there is an unseen war, an unseen battle waging everyday over me & over you & our eternity. Praise God, that through Jesus we have the power to overcome Satan’s tomfoolery & win the battle, leaving the devil the only fool!

10 A final word: Be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on all of God’s armour so that you will be able to stand firm against all strategies of the devil. 12 For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.

13 Therefore, put on every piece of God’s armour so you will be able to resist the enemy in the time of evil. Then after the battle you will still be standing firm. 14 Stand your ground, putting on the belt of truth and the body armour of God’s righteousness. 15 For shoes, put on the peace that comes from the Good News so that you will be fully prepared. 16 In addition to all of these, hold up the shield of faith to stop the fiery arrows of the devil. 17 Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.18 Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere”
-Ephesians 6:10-18.

.recycling.

I never used to be interested in recycling. It's not that I didn't care about landfill and the other ramifications of just dumping things in the bin, it just wasn't a priority. Now, I am what one would call a recycling 'convert', I look for every opportunity to save plastic and reuse it, or I make sure I recycle items when I can. I remember when I learnt that certain plastics couldn't be recycled, I actually got quite upset! My conversion to 'recyclablism' can greatly be attributed to the awareness the community around me generates about this issue.

Often I think we aware of the problems and social issues our world is facing, but these concerns don’t take precedence in our lives because they are not a priority. I’ve observed that our priorities are often in alignment with the priorities of those around us. And just as recycling became more of a concern to me as I was around others who were concerned about the state of our planet, I think this can be the same as with any other social or justice issue. So much about our lives is hinged on our attitude. Surrounding ourselves with individuals and groups who have positive attitudes (and in turn, positive priorities) can dramatically impact our lives. The ultimate person we can look to for an attitude adjustment is Jesus and beyond this his family, his community – the body of Christ

buses

My life is dictated by Melbournes Public Transport system. More specifically, I am at the mercy of trams 1, 8, 59, 96 and bus route 508*. Mostly, I catch the 508. That bus is never on time, ever. If the bus were ever to arrive at its scheduled time, I wouldn't know just what to do with myself.

I think that if by some miracle the 508 made its way to my bus stop at its intended time, I’d have an adverse reaction. What that adverse reaction would be, I cannot quite determine. Perhaps my future self would step off the bus and due to the cataclysmic event that would occur, I’d wake up in a DeLorean with Marty McFly and Doc Emmett Brown on the way back to the future.

Despite the 508s inability to arrive on time, there is one thing it always does; it takes the same route every day. And it is BORING. Mind numbingly boring. Gouge my eyes out with my nail file boring. Slowly pull the hairs out of my arm and make myself a moustache for the next time I go incognito boring. Same streets, same stops, same traffic lights, same turns, same, same, same.

Yes, the 508 will get you where you need to go. But it’s the safe trip. I’m sick of the safe, of the same, of the known. I’d much rather take the scenic route – traversing through the city, investigating quaint little shops, soaking in the various cultures, conversing with eccentric characters along my travels. The scenic route takes a lot longer, yes, but imagine how much I’d miss out on if I stuck to the same route all the time. The relationships and life experiences that would pass me by.

The easy route, the expected route, the planned out, step-by-step route. Graduate from high school, go to uni, get the degree, work for a couple of years, climb the corporate ladder, meet and fall in love with Mr. six foot-/cleancut/kahki wearing/tennis playing/hybrid car driving/organic eating/guitar strumming/soulfully crooning/poetry reading/superman, have the fairytale wedding, go on a European honeymoon, work for a few more years, pop out three kids, raise the kids, volunteer with some charities, retire, marry off my kids, travel around Australia in a caravan, spoil the grandkids and pass away an old grey haired lady holding my husbands hand.

I’ve often felt that is the route the world is telling me to take. But lately I’ve realised I don’t want to. Its not that there is anything wrong with this path in life. If that is what you want to do, then do it. Just don’t do something because you feel you have to. Obligation is a dirty word. Well it makes me feel like I need a scalding hot shower with an industrial loofah and a 10 litre bottle of body wash. Of course there are situations in life where responsibility takes precedence and in these moments we need to choose the right attitude and have faith to come out of these seasons on top. But when responsibility results in oppression, perhaps we’re not on the right path…?

When we are living the life, living the route that God has planned for us – we are free. Our anointing is realised and released because we are outworking whom we were created to be. Moving in our strengths and living out our dreams and desires (which when we are seeking him, are Gods dreams and desires) will rarely be boring, every season has its moments, but when we are passionate people, living out the passions instilled within us, dull moments are far and few in between.

I want to be one of those passionate people, I wish I was one of them. You know, ‘them’, one of those ones who never works a day in their life, because they are doing something they adore. However, I’m afraid. I want to pursue what I feel God is telling me, to get off the bus and not to take the expected route. To take the scenic route, but responsibility and obligation creep back up on me. They’re words that make me stick to my seat, afraid to push the ‘next stop’ button, hold me back from jumping off the bus and tearing up my ticket, because I’m never going to take the safe option again.

This is where trust comes in. Knowing that even though I can’t see the scenic route – the plan that is unknown, exciting, mysterious, unfamiliar to the world route, is really what was planned all along and that I have the creator, the mapper of the plan guiding me along. Showing me where to stop, where to turn, where to accelerate and to not let the world tell me which way to go, but to allow him to guide me through the streets.

*when I started writing this, I was a frequenter of public transport. I now have a car, but take the same route to work everyday, because the voice in the GPS told me to.