Writing

One of history’s most beautiful, if haunting poems is around three millennia old. Written by a king named Solomon, a leader with extraordinary wisdom, with bracing honesty it recognises the ebb and the flow, the give and take – the seasons traversed by every human life. He begins: There is…

It has been ten months since I broke my patella (knee) in multiple places. Three days and almost halfway exactly into walking the iconic Overland Track through the stunning, yet brutal Tasmanian wilderness. A slippery track, a tree root, a trip and a fall not only cut short the walk…

It’s been a while. I have some news to share. But more on that in a bit…  Back in April 1995 our family moved to Tasmania where we would live for the next two years. Joel was 18 months old, and Sue was six months pregnant with Emily. We knew…

Maggie and Mark (not their real names, but real people) have been foster carers with Wesley Mission since 2013. Earlier this year, Mark died suddenly. At the invitation of her fabulous case workers, Morgan and Jess, and their team leader, Thomas, I had the privilege of reaching out to a…

Pretty much every day, I’m reminded what a privilege it is to serve in my role. Last Tuesday was no exception. After a short light rail journey to the edge of the CBD, I joined some of my Wesley Mission Lifeline Sydney and Sutherland colleagues, together with key University of…

A few weeks ago, I enjoyed the opportunity to travel and attend a couple of excellent conferences with my friend, Graham. More than a friend, even a close friend, Graham is one of my ‘happy few.’ Let me explain. The phrase ‘happy few’ is centuries old, first penned by William…

My first paid job was riding the streets of Camperdown, Western Victoria in the cold, pre-dawn light, delivering papers stacked on the back of my three-speed bike. At twelve years of age, I would finish by visiting the local bakery and stuffing down an icing-slathered Boston bun as a pre-breakfast…

At 17 and straight out of high school, I got my first full-time job in a bank. The shock of working five days a week was equally matched with my disorientation (and a smidge overwhelmed) as wide-eyed country kid me, set up home in the big smoke of the city.…

During my high school years in rural South Australia my morning commute was on the uncomfortable seat of my trusty ten-speed bike. Leaving my house, I would ride past Sue’s home, who would join me and hundreds of other kids on the bike tracks to our school on the outskirts…